


A Knight for a Swan

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Knight Killian, Slow Burn, battles, conquered kingdom, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: The campaign had lasted only mere weeks before King George had been dispatched, and King Arthur had victoriously claimed the throne. Divided loyalties among the Lords and Knights of King George and Sir David had left the kingdom too weak and disorganized to put up much of a defense. Now all the lands were vulnerable. It was only a matter of time before an army loyal to the new Sovereign would come to capture, not only Sir David, but all his lands, his holdings, and even his only daughter. All in the name of the new King.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Medieval/Fantasy AU set in FairyTale Land... kind of. Much love to @ilovemesomekillianjones for being my beta on this *mwah*

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

It had all happened so fast.

It’s not as if they hadn’t been expecting an attack. They’d known for months now that the kingdom was in turmoil and that war was inevitable. At first everyone believed that the conflict would be between King George and his adopted heir, the Duke of Shepherd. King George had no sons of his own and had long ago adopted a set of twin boys, raising the eldest as his heir. Prince James had died several months before, leaving his brother, Sir David as the new heir to the throne.

All those within the kingdom, and many outside, knew that there was no love lost between King George and Sir David. The two barely tolerated one another in public. King George was a greedy tyrant who taxed his subjects mercilessly while attempting to claim more and more lands through ruthless campaigns against their neighbors. He had become increasingly paranoid at the idea that Sir David, who was well liked and respected among the other lords, would make an attempt to overthrow him and take the crown for himself.

Rumors of war circulated the kingdom for months following Prince James’ death, but the conflict had not come from the new heir. One of their neighbors had finally had enough of King George’s atrocities and saw the rift within the kingdom as the opportune time to strike.

The campaign had lasted mere weeks before King George had been dispatched, and King Arthur had victoriously claimed the throne. The divided loyalties of the Lords and Knights between King George and Sir David had left the kingdom too weak and disorganized to put up much of a defense. Now all the lands were vulnerable, and it was only a matter of time before an army loyal to the new Sovereign would come to capture Sir David’s lands and holdings in the name of the new King.

Sir David had never intended to usurp King George, a fact he’d tried to reassure his adoptive father of many times over the last several months. When it had became clear that King George would not accept the truth, and that neighboring kingdoms would eventually lay siege, Sir David and his wife, Lady Snow, had devised a plan of escape for themselves and their daughter, Lady Emma. They had planned to flee Misthaven before war broke out and seek refuge with their allies Prince Eric and Princess Ariel in their neighboring, sea-faring kingdom.

Lady Snow had left first. They had chosen to stagger their exits over time rather than flee all at once, hoping it would seem less suspicious. Under the guise of visiting her old friend, Lady Snow had booked passage to Ariel’s kingdom and departed with King George’s full knowledge. Perhaps if they didn’t try to hide her escape His Majesty wouldn’t see it for what it truly was, and he didn’t. Not that he had ever paid attention to Lady Snow’s actions anyway... he never had cared for the woman.

Lady Emma was to follow next. She was to disguise herself as a peasant and travel with a family to the southern border where she would board one of Prince Eric’s vessels that would take her to reunite with her mother. If all went according to plan, then no one would even know Lady Emma was gone, as she rarely appeared at court. Days before she was set to leave, however, a wrench was thrown into their plan. A royal summons to appear at court within a fortnight.

If she didn’t heed the summons it could alert King George to their plan. They felt certain that the summons was sent (addressed only to Lady Emma and not extending to her parents), as a way for the King to assess, and covertly interrogate, Lady Emma, in an attempt to glean information that might pertain to her father’s supposed run at the crown. She would have to attend. There was nothing for it.

Sir David had argued, commanding his daughter to stick to the original plan, but she had his stubborn streak and wouldn’t back down. She would go to court and he would make his leave while she was gone. No one would believe that he’d abandon his only child on the cusp of war, making it the perfect time for him to escape. In the end Sir David relented, seeing the logic in his daughter’s plan, and took her place as peasant traveling to the southern border. Lady Emma would take his escape route the moment she returned from court.

Except that the war had come before she could follow.

She had just returned to their castle when messengers had arrived with grave news. King Arthur of Camelot had declared war on Misthaven and all the borders and ports had been closed. After the news of King George’s demise had reached them they received more grave news. Lord Baelfire, one of King Arthur’s allies, was en route, and an attack upon their lands was imminent.

Lady Emma had wasted no time in taking charge of her father’s army to set about a defense strategy. She knew she could not hope to fend off invaders indefinitely, but hoped to maintain control until her personal envoy could reach the new King with a request for an audience. Her only hope was to throw herself at King Arthur’s mercy, and agree to relinquish all their lands, titles, and holdings if he would only guarantee the wellbeing of her people and allow her to join her parents in exile.

As they had prepared for Lord Baelfire’s incoming attack from the east, they had been caught off guard by another threat from the north. The invasion came at dawn and there had barely been enough time to get the women and children into the safety of the chapel. Which was where Emma now found herself. Huddled among the frightened masses, chafing at the fact that she had allowed her second-in-command to convince her to hide.

Sir David and Lady Snow were both highly skilled in weaponry; her mother favoring the bow, and her father, the sword. Emma had been raised with the art of defense, and was proficient enough in all manner of weapons, (from bow, to sword, to lance, and staff) to hold her own, against even the most highly trained of their knights. She should be out there fighting, not hiding away in the only sanctuary they could muster for the weaker and fairer of her people.

The sounds of battle rang out beyond the walls of the chapel. Clanging of metal against metal, cries of both victory and pain, and the shattering of splintering wood (and possibly bone), seemed to go on forever. When the sounds finally quieted, indicating that battle was over, Emma held her breath awaiting news of the outcome.

Had her men prevailed? Were they able to push back the invaders and secure the castle? What of the villagers that had been caught outside the castle walls?

Or had they been conquered? Occupied now by foreign troops and under the rule of an unknown Lord, loyal to the new king

Her answer came as three unknown knights, dressed in foreign armor, and sporting a crest that did not belong to her family entered the chapel.

_Conquered_.

Her people. Her lands. _Her_. All conquered.

Emma swallowed back the rising bile that threatened to overtake her. Perhaps not all was lost. She could still find a way to escape. Her people would tell them that she had fled with the Duke and Duchess, and disguised as one of the peasants, she would bide her time until the borders reopened and try to find her way back to her parents. She just had to keep her identity a secret, even if it ruffled her pride to do so.

As she rolled the possibilities of escape over in her mind, she watched as two of the men stopped halfway up the aisle, discussing the chapel. The third man continued to make his way toward the huddled mass of women and children, an insidious glint shining in his eyes.

“Well, well,” he mused, as he paced back and forth in front them. “Let Lord Jones keep his spoils, then. This plunder is more to my tastes anyways.” He reached out and grabbed one of the young maidens by the wrist, pulling her in close to him.

Before she could think better of it, Emma stepped forward and yanked the girl back. “Unhand her, fiend!”

She should have expected it, anticipated it, but the back of his hand met her cheek suddenly and with such force that she found herself sprawled across the floor in an instant.

Before she could retrieve the dagger she had hidden in the lining of her cloak, a sword appeared at the neck of her attacker, stemming the vitriol he had been spewing at her audacity.

“My brother’s orders were that no harm was to come to any of the women or children. You’d do well to heed those orders, mate,” the sword wielding knight stated with a hint of menace.

“Apologies, sire,” the man offered, without a hint of actual remorse. “Was only having a little fun.”

“Well, if it’s amusement you seek,” the other knight commented as he sheathed his sword, “why don’t you go help the squires round up all the livestock. See that their pens are repaired, and all the animals are secured by nightfall.”

It was clear that this wasn’t the man’s idea of amusement, but he knew an order when he heard one. With one last dark smirk shot her way the man turned and made his way out of the chapel.

“I apologize on behalf of my comrade-in-arms, lass,” the knight offered as he extended his hand to assist her off the floor.

Taking his proffered hand, her heart began to race as she rose to stand before him and properly looked at him for the first time since he’d intervened.

He was quite handsome, there was no denying that, and despite the fact that he served the Lord that had just conquered her lands, she felt inexplicably drawn to him. Raven black hair swept across his forehead and stuck out in odd angles from his removed helmet. Cerulean eyes sparkled under heavy brows, and several days growth dusted his jawline with hints of auburn.

A small scar marred his right cheek, a visual indication that he had seen his fair share of battles. He wore his armor as an extension of himself, and the many nicks, dents, and scratches upon its surface told her that this was a man who did not shy away from being at the center of the fray.

Although his expression had softened slightly, he still had that hardened look of one who was used to having his orders followed without question. This was not a man to be trifled with, no matter how enticing his looks, or how soothing his voice was as he addressed the women and children before him.

“I want to assure all of you that you have nothing to fear from Lord Jones or any of his men,” he vowed. “His Lordship asks that you all remain here until he has the opportunity to address you personally.” Despite how politely worded the statement, it was apparent to all that this was not a request.

She was caught off guard when he turned back to her and began examining her cheek. She flinched at his touch and he gave her an apologetic look as he continued to press the tender flesh, checking the severity of her injury. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and her breath shallowed at the nearness of his presence. A booming voice rang out from the entrance of the chapel, startling her again. _Why had she become jittery as a newborn colt?_

“I heard there was a spot of trouble.”

The voice came from a new man who had entered the chapel. He was flanked by two others signifying his importance. Several years older than the rest of the knights that had congregated there in the chapel, could he be Lord Jones?

“Just Sir Walsh being Sir Walsh,” the knight answered as he finished his assessment of her cheek. “He grabbed one of the younger maidens and then struck this one when she stepped in to intervene.”

Emma bristled at being spoken of as if she were not standing right in their midsts.

“All’s well now, I take it?” the man asked as he approached their assembly.

“Aye. I set Sir Walsh to rights, and she seems none too worse for wear.” He smiled down at her even as he spoke again as if she were not there.

“And the other maiden?”

The knight turned and looked at Ashley, raising his brows at her as if to inquire about her well-being. _Why should Ashley get to answer for herself, but I am to be dismissed?_ Emma thought petulantly, and then berated herself for acting like a child.

When Ashley offered no response to their query, the older man asked if she was well.

“I am, my Lord. Thanks to Lady Emma.” Ashley’s eyes went wide as the men’s heads snapped in Emma’s direction.

“I’m so sorry, milady!” Ashley cried out, despondent over revealing Lady Emma’s true identity.

“It is alright, Ashley,” she soothed, taking the girl’s hand. “We couldn’t have hoped to keep it a secret for long.” The fact was, she hadn’t wanted to hide away in the first place. Even though anonymity would have given her a chance to escape, she’d rather face Lord Jones or any other would-be conqueror head on.

Emma turned towards the knights, squared her shoulders, and looked directly at the older man. “I am Lady Emma, daughter of Sir David, the Duke of Shepherd.”

The older man surprised her as he gave her a slight bow before introducing himself. “Lady Emma. I am Lord Liam Jones, a subject of His Majesty, King Arthur. May I introduce you to my second-in-command, and brother, Sir Killian Jones.”

The raven haired, blue eyed knight also gave a slight bow before her, though his eyes never left her as he did so. He seemed to be assessing her anew, and she could feel a flush of heat spread across her chest and up her neck under the intense scrutiny of his gaze.

“Killian, escort Lady Emma back to the castle and see that she is comfortable until my return,” Lord Jones instructed high-handedly before turning to address the remaining women.

“No,” Emma replied flatly. She was done with being dismissed.

“Excuse me?” Lord Jones responded incredulously.

“I will not return to the castle and passively wait until you deign to grace me with your presence. There is too much to see to and too much to discuss for us to waste such time,” she declared.

“And what such things did you have in mind, milady?” he asked in a patronizing tone that only served to stoke her temper.

“How about the fact that the wounded need to be tended to, and that the castle must be secured,” she offered.

“Why don’t you let us worry about the security of the castle, Lady Emma. No need to worry your pretty head over such things.”

“Oh, really? Well perhaps it might interest you to know that Lord Baelfire is, at this very moment, on his way here to attack. You might want to consider sending an envoy alerting him to the fact that you have already done so, then accept the allegiance of my men to help you secure the grounds before he arrives!”

The men had been staring, slack jawed, at her tirade, but the news of Lord Baelfire’s approach caused the brothers to share a telling look. A look that sent a lead ball of dread straight to her stomach. Surely Lord Baelfire would withdraw once he received news that the castle had already been occupied in the king’s name. He was the king’s ally after all, wasn’t he? The Jones brothers’ expressions seemed to indicate otherwise.

“Lady Emma, though I appreciate your passion and the information concerning Lord Baelfire, I must insist that you return to the castle and let us men handle things.” Lord Jones nodded stiffly to his brother to carry out his orders, but Emma refused to budge.

“And although I appreciate your _gracious_ offer to allow me to wait in comfort, I am afraid I must refuse. I _insist_ on seeing to the needs of my people.” Emma didn’t even bother to keep the ire from her voice.

Lord Jones may have taken control of her castle and her lands, but they were still her people. She had a responsibility to see that the women and children were protected, and that the wounded were tended to properly. Nerves churned in her stomach at the thought of having to determine who was among the dead and arranging a mass burial for the fallen, all in the face of another potential attack. It was not in her nature, however, to sit idly by and do nothing, and no self-righteous, pompous lord was going to make her.

“Lady Emma!” Lord Jones roared, his ire also raising to greatly heated levels. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the position you are currently in. I will not be ordered about by the spoiled daughter of a cowardly duke who turned tail and ran, abandoning his people, his lands, and his kin. Now do as you are told, and return to the castle!”

The cracking sound of the slap echoed off the chapel walls before Emma even realized that she had struck him. She had never been more furious in her entire life. How dare he call her father a coward!

The unexpected force of her blow knocked Lord Jones sideways, causing him to stumble. His guards reached out to steady him as Sir Killian stepped in front of her. At first she thought he meant to restrain her, but as he put his back to her she realized he was putting himself between her and his brother. Almost as if he meant to protect her.

“Brother!” Sir Killian shouted, as Lord Jones advanced toward them. He halted when he realized that Sir Killian was shielding her. “A word, brother,” Sir Killian demanded, but he made no move to step away from her until Lord Jones nodded and began to move toward the center of the chapel.

Emma couldn’t hear the words the brothers spoke to one another, but it was clear that neither liked what the other was saying. After several tense moments she finally did hear a snippet of the conversation in which Lord Jones exasperatedly told his brother that she was now his problem to deal with, then he signaled for the two other knights to follow him out of the chapel.

Sir Killian made his way back to where she stood, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. Tension radiated off his body as he attempted to compose himself. He closed his eyes for only a moment before fixing them, once again, on her, and let out a heavy sigh. Placing a lopsided, but gentle smile on his face and addressed her.

“Lady Emma, my brother would like for me to seek your counsel on how best to handle the triage of the wounded, and who among your men would be best to assist us with securing the castle and the grounds.”

She scoffed, knowing that it was most certainly _not_ his brother’s request, but saw no need to take out her frustrations on Sir Killian. She was actually quite grateful that he had apparently spoken up for her, and that he was genuinely seeking her counsel.

Sir Killian looked at her expectantly and she once again felt herself knocked completely off kilter by the vividness of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze. It was as if that gaze could see right into her soul, allowing him to read her as easily as a scholarly man could read ancient scrolls.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and swallowed hard before answering. “The chapel would be the ideal location to set up triage. We have several cots that can be pulled from storage and set up, and most of the women can assist with bandaging and small matters of aid.” He remained intent and gave her an encouraging nod to continue when she paused. “I’ll need to check on the status of my men, but if Sir August is still among the... the living, then he would be the man I would put in charge to oversee the care of the wounded.”

Sir Killian turned his head and nodded to a man Emma had completely forgotten about. The third knight that had entered the chapel with Sir Killian before he had drawn his sword on Sir Walsh.

“Lady Emma, allow me to introduce my second, Sir Robin. He will discover the fate of your knight, Sir August.” Sir Killian turned and instructed that should he find August alive and well, he was to bring him to the chapel. August and Sir Robin would work together to organize triage and treat the wounded. Sir Robin acknowledged his orders and departed.

“And what of the repairs and security of the castle and the surrounding lands?” Sir Killian asked.

“My second-in-command, Sir Graham, would be the best man to help oversee those tasks. He knows these lands better than anyone,” she admitted.

“Even better than yourself?” he asked with a teasing note lacing his words.

This new tone confused her, and her expression must have said as much. Sir Killian cleared his throat uncomfortably and spoke again. “Come. Let’s you and I see if we can track down your second. Your men have been assembled in the courtyard where you can address them and give your orders.”

“What of the women and children?” she asked.

He seemed to have forgotten about them completely until that moment. “I leave that to you, milady.” He swept out his arm, inviting her to address them, and she wasted no time giving her instructions.

“Ladies, your assistance will be needed in several areas. Granny will take charge of those who can help in the preparation and service of meals. Ashley, you and the older girls will see to the care of the children. Keep them out of the way of the men. Those of you who have skill with healing will remain here to assist Sir August and myself. Although we have Sir Killian’s assurance that the men are under orders not to harm anyone, I don’t want anyone going off on their own.” She glanced over to gauge whether or not that last directive had angered Sir Killian, but he seemed unconcerned with her warning to the women.

She dismissed them to begin their tasks, then followed Sir Killian to exit the chapel. Pausing at the door, Lady Emma prepared herself for what she might find beyond.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is from Killian's POV. The fic with switch between Killian and Emma's POV. A line break will indicate a change of POV if the switch occurs within a chapter.

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**

What the bloody hell had his brother been thinking? If the Dark One’s son was truly on his way to lay siege on the duke’s castle, they would undoubtedly need the alliance of Lady Emma and her men to help ward off the attack.

Because attack he most certainly would.

The man had no honor.

Their battle was far from over.

Killian made his way back to the castle to confer with Lady Emma’s second, Sir Graham, and several other of his brother’s and Lady Emma’s knights to formulate a strategy for their defense. He had left Lady Emma to help tend the wounded, and oversee the logistics of domestic matters, with a promise to keep her apprised of their plans.

His men were under orders to keep an eye on Lady Emma and her men and report any suspicious behavior back to him. Lady Emma may have agreed to an alliance and ordered her men to defer to his authority, but that didn’t mean he trusted any of them to go about unobserved. Least of all Lady Emma, for a number of reasons.

She certainly wasn’t what he’d expected, not that he’d even expected to meet her. Their initial intel had led them to believe that she had fled with the Duke weeks prior. How had she been left behind to fend for herself? A surge of anger, aimed toward the Duke for abandoning her, irrationally churned in his gut. A woman of such status and beauty should never have been left so vulnerable as to face the baser impulses of men alone.

Her stunning beauty had caught his attention immediately, and before her true identity had been revealed he had already begun devising ways of wooing her into his bed later. His brother had ordered that the women were not to be harmed, but he’d never said anything against them coming to the men willingly.

Of course, that was not an option now. More’s the pity.

Where her looks had begun to stir his desires, the brazen way she had stood up to his brother had ignited them into an inferno. Killian had seen grown men, knights, and nobles cower in the presence of his brother’s temper, but not her. She had gone toe-to-toe with him, refusing to back down.

It was probably bad form to have been so entertained by the entire exchanged, though Killian’s amusement had ceased when Lady Emma had struck Liam. Not out of any protective instinct for his brother, the bloody sod had deserved it. No. Killian’s protective instincts had been for her.

Although he’d never known his brother to strike a woman, Killian knew that Liam had been at the end of his patience even before his run-in with Lady Emma, and her reaction was likely to send him over the edge.

Killian had to step in if they were to get anything accomplished. The threat from Lord Baelfire had to be dealt with, and quickly. It took some convincing, but Liam had finally agreed to leave at once and present himself before their King, while also sending a missive to Lord Baelfire that the duke’s lands had been claimed in Arthur’s name. The letter was merely a formality, with so many riches at stake, they both knew that nothing less than a direct order from King Arthur himself would halt the lord’s advance.

Until the order came from their King, Killian would have to hold Baelfire off by any means necessary. The Dark One’s son cared little for the lives of the innocent, and he wouldn’t hesitate to seize any and all spoils the castle had to offer, including Lady Emma. A thought that stirred Killian’s ire once again and gave him pause to wonder why he felt so strongly about her well-being.

The knights had assembled themselves in a large room of the castle, and the next several hours were spent with Killian and his men familiarizing themselves with the grounds, terrain, and natural defenses, while weighing the advice and counsel Lady Emma’s men provided. Sir Graham was indeed a most knowledgeable knight, not only about the grounds themselves, but in all manner of strategy as well. Strategies Killian agreed to put in place at once before dismissing the men to their assigned duties.

As he made his way back into the courtyard Killian’s stomach reminded him just how long it had been since he’d had anything of real substance to eat, but before he could go seek out his evening meal he needed to update Lady Emma. A task he was quite adamant he would perform himself when Sir Graham had offered to relay the briefing to his mistress. Killian told himself it was because he had made a promise to Lady Emma to personally keep her informed, though he imagined it had a bit more to do with the fact that his thoughts had wandered more than once during the counsel, to Lady Emma’s golden locks, jade green eyes, and slender form.

He found her outside the chapel giving instructions to some of the women, the gore and grime of tending to the wounded had more or less been washed away from her person, and a look of weariness had settled over her form and face.

“Lady Emma,” he called out reluctantly, not wishing to keep her from finding some respite. “I’ve come to give you a briefing, but it can wait if you would rather rest for a bit.”

The resolve in her gait as she approached told him that she did not wish to rest first, so he led her to a stack of barrels to serve as a table where he unrolled the map of her lands. As he took her through each point, he found himself impressed with her knowledge and instincts regarding military tactics of defense and strategy. Lady Emma was clearly more than just a pretty face or impassioned mistress for her people, she clearly had a brain and sharp intellect as well. Killian couldn’t help but marvel; a renewed stirring of desire swept over him.

When he’d finished outlining the different tactical positions they would be sending scouts to the next morning, he noticed a look of concern upon her brow.

“Lady Emma? Is there something amiss?”

She stared at the map a moment longer, something about the summarized plan clearly not sitting right with her.

“Lass, tell me what you’re thinking.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a command, but the way her eyes snapped up at him told him she took it that way.

“Nothing,” she demurred, schooling her expression into a more amenable facade. “I think I may need to speak with Sir Graham is all. Thank you for the update, Sir Killian.” With that she slipped past him toward the castle.

Something wasn’t right.

Killian knew in his gut that she had seen a fault in the plan, but she hadn’t said anything. Why? Did she not think he would listen? Was she going to confide her concerns to Sir Graham because she did not trust him to take her seriously? Hadn’t he proven to her earlier that he wasn’t like his brother, that he valued her opinions?

The thought that she did not trust him chafed, but he could hardly fault her for being cautious. They were currently occupying her lands as conquerors. It was his burden to prove himself trustworthy to her, not for her to give him her trust blindly.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he went to follow her. Perhaps she’d be open to letting him be present as she relayed her concerns to Sir Graham and he could reassure her that he was willing to listen as well. They’d all have to learn to work together if they ever hoped to succeed against Lord Baelfire’s campaign.

He did not find them in the dining hall, nor in the room where they had conferred earlier, but as he made his way down the corridor that led back to the great hall Killian heard the murmur of voices coming from a small room to his left. Positioning himself just outside the door he could hear the furious whispers of Lady Emma.

“I cannot believe you would be so stupid as to blatantly send Lord Jones’ men into that thicket! You know that is a near certain death sentence. Why would you put us in such danger like that? Do you think Sir Killian will not realize you double-crossed him?”

“Emma,” Sir Graham pleaded. “How can you expect me to simply roll over and accept their occupation?”

“Because I _order_ you to Graham!” Lady Emma commanded. “So far Sir Killian and his men have treated us honorably, do you think we will receive such kindness from Lord Baelfire? We _need_ them Graham.”

“No,” he countered, “they need _us_. They cannot hope to fend off another attack without us. You should have negotiated with Lord Jones instead of immediately offering an accord.”

“Negotiated for what?”

“Our allegiance in exchange for an armed escort to take you to Prince Eric’s kingdom!”

“Oh, Graham,” she sighed. “You know that Lord Jones could never have agreed to those terms. It is the new King’s right to choose my fate, not his.”

“And what about your choice, Emma?”

The familiar way they addressed one another, and the tenderness with which Sir Graham spoke, led Killian to believe that they were perhaps more to one another than just the daughter of the duke and his knight commander.

The possibility didn’t sit well with Killian, it actually angered him more than the revelation that Sir Graham apparently planned to send some of his men to their demise in the morning. Lady Emma was wreaking havoc on his thought processes. He needed to get his head back on straight but his passions were simmering too close to the surface. Between the adrenaline of battle, the euphoria of victory, the tensions that had erupted between his brother and Lady Emma, the desire Lady Emma had stirred in him, and now his seething anger at Sir Graham’s betrayal and the man’s possible affections for his mistress, Killian was holding on to his sound judgment by a very thin thread.

“Graham, I know that my mother and father always hoped that I would be given the freedom to marry for love, but you and I both know that they were the exception, not the rule. The best chance I have for any kind of choice in the matter is to align myself with the new king and beseech his indulgence.”

“And if he sends Lord Jones back with a decree that you are to become the man’s wife?”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that, mate. My brother is already spoken for,” Killian informed them darkly. He stepped into the room and met their shocked expressions with lowered brows and a dangerous scowl.

“Sir Killian, I can explain,” Lady Emma exclaimed quickly as she stepped in front of Sir Graham, shielding him. An action that further rankled Killian.

“That’s quite alright, Lady Emma,” he replied in a low voice, a hint of rage simmering beneath his tone and demeanor. “I think I have the understanding of things. You were planning to lead my men into some sort of ambush, Sir Graham? And here I thought you to be a man of honor,” he taunted.

Killian was itching for a fight, all the impassioned emotions and desires from the day culminating to set his blood on fire with a clawing need. His preferred activities to satisfy such a need were not an option to him, so he would settle for provoking Sir Graham into fighting him. Not exactly the physical action he’d prefer, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take great pleasure in giving the man a sound thrashing.

Only Sir Graham did not react to his taunts, but instead gently pushed his way past Lady Emma to stand before Killian. He made no effort to answer Killian’s question, and just stared at some fixed point over Killian’s shoulder. Undeterred, Killian pressed on with another question.

“What sort of dangers would my men face if they were to be sent into that thicket?” he inquired, but still Sir Graham remained silent. “You’d do well to answer my questions, mate,” Killian growled as he took a step towards the obstinate knight, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“No one knows!” Lady Emma blurted out as she once again tried to put herself between them. “The thicket is cursed. People simply do not return. We do not know what happens to them,” she explained as Graham placed his hand on her shoulder and again moved her aside, his eyes still fixed on that far away spot.

Killian took another step forward until he was right in the man’s face. “How exactly did you reason that putting my men in danger would somehow protect her? It’s a bloody daft plan if you ask me, because now you’ve risked depriving her of your personal protection,” Killian threatened.

If the man was not going to respond to Killian’s inquiry then perhaps he’d respond to Killian’s sword. His weapon was halfway out of its sheath when Lady Emma grasped onto his arm.

“Please!” implored Lady Emma, fear lacing her words. “I beg you to spare his life”

Killian had not once that day seen her afraid or heard even a quiver of fear in her voice, and it tore at his heart that he was the one that had put it there. He hated to see her beg for anything, hated it even more that it was for another man’s life.

He realized that he’d been hot-headed and foolish in trying to provoke the man into a fight, and though he couldn’t let such treachery stand, Graham had been right. Killian needed the man and his knowledge of the lands and the castle if they hoped to hold out against Lord Baelfire’s attack. Anger still coursed through his veins, a pounding need to take some sort of action, but he would not subject Lady Emma to any more heartache today.

“His fate shall be determined by my brother when he returns,” Killian decreed, sheathing his sword while still focusing his attention on the knight before him. “Perhaps, if you swear on your mistress’ life that you shall be honorable in our alliance, and prove your word by truly assisting me and my men in defending these lands, I shall put in a good word with my brother when that time comes. If not, then I shall volunteer to be your executioner myself.”

Killian continued to stare Sir Graham down, his jaw clenched and ticking with frustration that he had little choice but to offer the man clemency. Lady Emma rested her other hand on Sir Graham’s arm and the man’s eyes switched their focus from the wall to Lady Emma’s hand before finally focusing on Killian.

“I swear on Lady Emma’s life that my service to you shall be without any further deception or trickery,” Sir Graham vowed.

Killian assessed the man for a moment longer before stepping back and releasing the hilt of his sword. He knew the man’s vow had nothing to do with a sudden willingness to truly be helpful, or to even save his own neck. Sir Graham wouldn’t risk doing anything else that might put Lady Emma in danger, and for that reason alone, Killian took him at his word.

“Very well,” Killian acknowledged. “I suggest you seek out my men and give them their new assignment. You’re dismissed.” 

Graham stiffened, his pride bruised at being summarily dismissed like a subordinate. He gave Lady Emma a small bow, but then hesitated a moment before taking his leave. It was clear that Sir Graham did not want to leave Lady Emma alone, but didn’t want to risk angering Killian further by disobeying a direct order. Lady Emma also seemed apprehensive at the prospect of being left alone with a still irate Killian, and Killian couldn’t let her discomfort stand.

“Once you have given them their new orders report to Sir Walsh. Lady Emma and I will be in the dining hall for the evening meal.” Killian bowed to Lady Emma and offered her a small smile as he held out his arm as an offer to escort her. She gave him a wary look, but took his arm despite her trepidation.

The meal was spent in silence with Lady Emma casting furtive glances his way when he wasn’t casting his own right back at her. If she hadn’t hated him before, surely she did so now.

Hated and feared him.

Perhaps that’s how it should be.

She was the granddaughter of the deposed king. Killian’s sovereign had taken over her kingdom and his brother had taken over her lands in their king’s name. For all intents and purposes, and despite their tenuous alliance, he was her enemy.

She had been correct when she’d told Graham that her fate now rested with King Arthur. Killian was no fool, he knew the king would see her as a great prize; one he could use to help unify the two kingdoms. The former king’s potential heir joined in marriage with a loyal subject of the new king would go a long way to merge Misthaven and Camelot, and most of the lords would fall over themselves to receive such favor.

Killian needed to reconcile the feelings and desires that Lady Emma had stirred in him with the reality that she was a prize not meant for him. Not that he viewed her as a mere object. In this one short day, Lady Emma had shown her true worth to him. She was a prize, to be sure, but not as a mere adornment or some pawn in a political game of chess. No. Lady Emma’s value went much deeper than that, and Killian knew he had only scratched the surface of the treasure she truly was.

But it wasn’t his place to go digging for that treasure. He was a knight, not a pirate, and he had a duty to protect her, his king’s prize, even though he knew she was so much more than that.

As the evening meal ended, one of Lady Emma’s knights approached their table.

“Sir Killian, this is Sir August,” Lady Emma offered as introduction. “He is Sir Graham’s second and our most skilled healer.”

Killian nodded his acknowledgement of the knight and permitted him to report on the state of the wounded. He had planned to check in with Robin before turning in, but it seemed his second had saved him the time by sending Sir August with a full report. Lady Emma thanked Sir August for all his efforts, promised to join him in the morning to redress wounds, then excused herself to turn in for the night.

Killian watched as she made her way up the stone steps towards her bedchamber, he was saved from any escalating thoughts of her undressing for bed by the sound of Sir August clearing his throat in an effort to gain his attention.

“Yes, Sir August, was there something else?”

“I have a request, Sir Killian.”

“Go on then,” Killian permitted.

“I’d like your permission to place one of our men to guard Lady Emma’s chambers. I mean no offense to you, sire, but I heard of the incident that occurred earlier today in the chapel involving one of your men, and I would rest easier knowing that she was looked after by one of our own.”

Sir August’s request was made with genuine deference to Killian’s authority and out of a true desire to protect his mistress, so Killian found no offense in his request.

Killian had already considered posting a guard at her door, as well as on the ground below her window, but had planned on using his own men. As a show of good faith, he agreed to Sir August’s petition to have one of Lady Emma’s men posted outside her door, and told him to make the arrangements. He’d still have one of his men outside her window - in case she attempted an escape. After dismissing the man and hearing reports from a few others, Killian decided to retire for the evening.

Tomorrow was sure to be another long day.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins with Emma's POV and switches to Killian's at the line break.

* * *

For a few wondrous moments the next morning Emma forgot all about the occupation of her castle and lands by foreign invaders. Quite a feat considering that the majority of her nighttime imaginings had featured a certain dark haired, blue eyed knight, prominently presented in a variety of manifestations over the course of her slumber.

In her dreams he was juxtaposed between gentle and attentive, and hard and menacing. The former stirred feelings of security and affection within her, while the darker attributes had her transfixed. He was a contradiction in personalities, not unlike the reality she had experienced from him the day before. Each manifestation had affected her, just as the physical presence of the man himself had, and she felt flustered by the swirling of emotion that she had no context for.

With the help of her lady’s maid, Ruby, Emma dressed and prepared for another day of uncertainty, but could not shake thoughts of Sir Killian from her mind. Memories of his fierce protectiveness, and deference to her counsel and advice, stood in stark contrast with the images of his sword against her attacker’s neck in the chapel, and the simmering rage she had viewed in his eyes as he had advanced on Graham the night before.

Not that he hadn’t had every right to be incensed at Graham’s actions. She still couldn’t believe her second’s foolishness, and knew that Sir Killian had been well within his rights to declare Graham’s life forfeit.

But he hadn’t.

Despite the fury she had sensed boiling underneath Sir Killian’s countenance, he had granted Graham mercy, once again defying her expectations of what treatment they might receive under his authority.

From the moment their paths had crossed Sir Killian had seemed to go out of his way to see to her protection, and cater to her wishes. Why? What did he hope to gain with such acts of kindness and indulgence?

His motives did not appear lascivious in any way. On the contrary, he’d been a perfect gentleman during their conversations and interactions, never once hinting at any sort of liberties he might expect from her in exchange for the well-being of her men or her people. He’d even allowed one of her own men to be stationed outside her bed chambers.

Perhaps he was just simply an honorable knight - a man with a code?

 _Honorable, yes, but dangerous as well,_ she reminded herself.

She had sensed that about him in the chapel. It was why she had said nothing to him when he’d shown her the defensive plans and she realized what Graham was planning to do. Fearing what Sir Killian might do if he learned the truth, she’d hoped to resolve the issue by convincing Graham to change the orders before Sir Killian could be made aware of the duplicity. A fear that was realized when he’d entered the room, a volatile mix of emotions brewing just beneath the surface and threatening to release themselves in what was sure to be a most violent display.

In that moment Sir Killian had frightened her. But she’d be lying if she denied the fact that his dark passion hadn’t also excited her. A reaction she did not know how to reconcile.

This man should hold no interest for her. He was a subject of the invading king, his loyalty belonging solely to his sovereign, not to her. Whatever his reasons for his continued indulgences to her, it changed nothing of the fact they were, in all practical sense of the matter, enemies who had managed to strike an accord for mutual benefit.

Once the threat of Lord Baelfire passed, and he no longer needed the cooperation of her knights, would his attitude toward her change? Which knight would present himself as the true manifestation of his character? The honorable man who was patient and amenable to her status, or the man who was prone to succumb to his darker impulses? Emma should not want to find out, but she couldn’t help but wonder just who Sir Killian Jones truly was.

After breaking her fast, Emma found her way to the castle gardens as she continued her contemplations. Lady Snow had planted the gardens many years ago and it had become a place of great solace for Emma. She felt connected to her mother here and fervently wished she was here with her now. Surrounded by the many fragrant plants and the rippling surface of the reflecting pool, Emma could almost imagine that it was just another morning at her castle, and that her mother and father were somewhere on the grounds peacefully seeing to their duties.

Tears slipped down Emma’s cheeks as the longing of such a reality overwhelmed her. She did not have the luxury to get caught up in her melancholy, though. There were still wounded to see to, the management of provisions that would serve the needs of all those housed within the castle walls, and the looming threat of further attack to prepare for, to say nothing of the turbulent waters of her alliance with Sir Killian that she must wade through.

No, she had not the time to get lost in her thoughts, whether they be of a longing to reunite with her parents, or a desire to further contemplate a man whose presence had shaken free feelings, the likes of which she had never experienced, and yearned to explore against her better judgement. She should put it all from her mind and get to work...

But perhaps, just a few more moments to enjoy the solace of the gardens wouldn’t hurt. It’s not as if the blue of the forget-me-nots reminded her of a certain knight’s eyes.

* * *

 

Killian was up before the sun. Restful sleep had eluded him for most of the night, his frustrations from the day before still gnawing at him. When he had slept, his dreams had been plagued with visions of a blonde haired, green eyed beauty, hell bent on enticing him with feminine wiles she probably didn’t even know she possessed.

He’d resisted taking himself in hand in response to his nighttime musings of Lady Emma, not wanting to add to the list of indignities that had already been inflicted upon her - not that she’d ever be aware of such an offense. Instead, he rose earlier than usual and began his morning drills hoping the physical exertion of training would calm his mind and body, allowing him to focus on the important tasks of the day. After some time, others joined him for their morning workouts as well, and by the time he had left them under Sir Walsh’s supervision he had a much clearer mind about the business of the day.

He listened to various reports over his morning meal and gave his orders for the day’s tasks before setting off to check in with Robin and see how the wounded were fairing. Despite his attempts to put her from his mind, Killian couldn’t help but seek out the golden tresses of Lady Emma as he scanned the chapel, his brow furrowing when he did not readily locate her among the throng.

“She hasn’t arrived yet,” answered Robin knowingly as he came up next to him. “Last I heard she was in the castle gardens. John is keeping watch over her, along with one of her men. Shall I inform them that you’re looking for her?”

“How are the wounded this morning,” Killian asked, refusing to acknowledge Robin’s question or teasing smirk.

His second seemed to take the hint and appropriated a more serious demeanor as he answered, “We lost three more overnight. One of ours, two of theirs. But the rest of the severely wounded seem to have pulled through. Now it’s just a matter of time as we wait to see if any fevers develop.”

Killian nodded through the rest of Robin’s report and then made his way through the rows of his men, giving encouragement and lifting spirits as best he could. It was never easy to see strong, young men laid out on their backs, the frustrated feelings of uselessness on full display in their eyes. Killian did his best to reassure them that the day would come where they would once again be able to take up arms and defend their king, trying to leave them with a sense purpose in their convalescence.

After he had made his way through his own men he sought out Sir August and asked that he accompany him as he visited Lady Emma’s men. Though their reception of him hadn’t been as welcoming as with his brother’s soldiers, Killian didn’t let it deter him from trying to provide them comfort and peace of mind about the security of the castle and the protection of their mistress. He wished them all speedy recoveries with a promise that Lady Emma would be by soon to check in with them herself.

After leaving Robin and August with their orders for the day, Killian was torn about seeking out Lady Emma next. He needed to meet with Smee (one of his soldiers who had been tasked with keeping his sights on Sir Graham), to ensure that all had gone according to the _new_ plan that morning. Graham’s devotion and loyalty to Lady Emma had caused him to act foolishly the day before. Killian understood Graham’s motives, but it didn’t mean he trusted the man.

However, Killian did trust Lady Emma, though he couldn’t say exactly why, and he wanted no secrets between.

It surely wouldn’t come as any surprise to her that Killian was having Graham watched, but he felt an obligation to tell her himself, especially before Graham made it known to her, as he was sure to notice Smee sooner or later. Besides, if Killian were being truly honest with himself, his morning exertions had done little to ebb his desire to be in Lady Emma’s company.

Smee and his update could wait.

Arriving at the castle gardens Killian dismissed John and the other man with a nod of his head, and stood several meters off to the side observing Lady Emma before he approached. She had a melancholy air about her, which he supposed was to be expected, but he was loathe to allow it to linger. As he considered what he might offer her in the way of comfort, he saw a small smile pull at the corner of her mouth as she reached out and delicately caressed the tiny petals of a nearby flower.

Forget-me-nots.

Drawn by the softness of her smile, and hoping to see that tenderness reflected in her emerald gaze, Killian approached with a warm greeting.

“Good morning, Lady Emma.”

She startled and quickly stood, looking every bit like a spooked animal seeking escape. Killian paused in his approach, a wave of regret washing over him that he had made her so fearful of him last evening.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Lady Emma. It was not my intention to intrude,” he offered with as much sincerity as he could muster, hoping she could read the earnestness in his expression, but she would not meet his gaze. After a moment’s silence, Killian sighed and turned to depart. “I’ll just leave you to your thoughts, then,” he muttered solemnly, as he made his way to exit the garden.

“Sir Killian, wait,” she called out after him. “Please. Do not leave just yet.”

Killian turned back to face her and once again began his approach, this time with tentative steps. As he drew closer, Lady Emma sat back down on the stone bench she had occupied when he’d arrived and invited him to sit with her.

Another moment of silence surrounded them, but Killian held his peace, sensing that Lady Emma had something on her mind, but was having trouble finding a way to give it voice. When at last she looked up at him, he was aggrieved to see she had been crying. Before he could inquire as to the reason (not that he couldn’t hazard a guess, and berated himself all the more for being the likely cause) she found the words she wished to say.

“I wanted to thank you... for Graham. I know that what he did, what he planned... you would have been well within your rights to condemn him.”

Indeed, he was, but he wouldn’t allow this topic to cause her any more torment than it already had.

“His only true crime is his unwavering loyalty to you, Lady Emma. There are a great many worse things a man can find himself guilty of.” Killian paused as he considered all the atrocities he had committed in the name of loyalty. “Sir Graham will be watched a bit closer from now on, but as long as there are no other incidents I do not intend to inform my brother of his lapse in judgement.” At this unexpected news Emma gave him a grateful smile that caused him to respond in kind as he reached up to scratch behind his ear. “Speaking of, I never got a chance to apologize for my brother’s behavior yesterday in the chapel.”

“Do you do that a lot?” she questioned.

“Do what?”

“Apologize for the actions of others. First it was Sir Walsh, now you brother.”

He pondered that for a moment and realized that she was correct. With a cheeky smirk, he raised his brows and responded, “Well, since I never commit any transgressions of my own I have to practice the act of penance in some way.” The sound of her laugh went straight to his chest, tightening the space around his heart in a not altogether unpleasant way.

It was then that he realized just how smitten he had become with Lady Emma. He knew no other word for it. It was more than a mere physical attraction, some carnal need to be quenched; it was a drive to see her happy, protected, and at peace. A desire for her presence simply because she was... her.

Killian knew that this was a dangerous path to follow, that he should get up and put as much distance between himself and Lady Emma as possible until his brother arrived with the king’s orders, but no matter how much he knew he ought to pull away he could not bring himself to part from her company just yet.

“May I ask you something, Lady Emma?”

“Please, Sir Killian. Just Emma,” she insisted, “I have always found being addressed by my title to be a tedious affair. Most of my knights and attendants just call me Emma.”

Well that explained Graham’s familiar way of addressing his mistress, not that it curbed Killian’s suspicions that the man felt more for Lady Emma than the duty of his station warranted.

“I appreciate that, milady,” Killian replied, “but I do not think it would be proper for me to do so.”

“Right. Of...of course,” she stammered. “I did not mean to suggest…,” and her voice trailed off, a hint of pink staining her cheeks in a most beguiling fashion.

She was adorable when she was flustered.

Clearing her throat, she resumed by reminding, “There was something you wished to ask me, Sir Killian?”

Killian tore his attention from the enticing flush of her bashfulness, which had begun to spread down the length of her delicate neck, and tried to recall his question. He wasn’t sure there was a delicate way to ask. He had already made her uneasy by refusing her offer to call her by her given name, not that he’d wanted to refuse, far from. He just didn’t trust himself to accept any liberties from her, no matter how innocently offered. So he decided he’d have to be blunt.

“Why did you parents flee the kingdom, but leave you behind?”

“My father is not a coward,” she stated emphatically, her hands balling into fists.

“I never said that he was,” Killian reminded.

“Your brother did.”

“Well, my brother can be something of an ass,” he quipped without thinking, but her laughter reassured him that his crass words had not offended her, and a swooping sensation swept through his gut at her continued amusement.

She composed herself quickly though and began worrying her lip before getting back to his question.

“They did not intend to leave me behind. I was actually supposed to be gone weeks ago, but King George summoned me to court and I convinced my father to make his escape while I was gone. I thought no one would suspect that he’d leave while I was still in the kingdom, and that it would be the safest way for him to pass through the lands undetected,” she explained, wringing her fingers in her lap as she did so. “I think that’s part of the reason Graham acted the way he did. When my father refused to go without me, Graham took my side. He feels personally responsible for my safety, because he helped me convince Papa to go in my place and assured him that I would follow as soon as I returned from court, but…”

“But then we invaded,” Killian finished.

“Yes.”

“Where did they go?” Killian asked, not thinking about any sort of gain in obtaining such significant information, he was merely curious, but the wary look she gave reminded him that her parents may very well be wanted fugitives of the king. Sir David posed a very real threat as the heir of Misthaven. He could easily return with allies and challenge Arthur for the throne. Did his king even now have a bounty on their heads?

“I’m sorry, you... you don’t have to answer that,” he assured. He wouldn’t ask her to betray her parents’ whereabouts to him, not when he would be obligated to share the information with his brother or his king if he was asked.

She relaxed at his retraction, and he decided to ask about her parents another way.

“Why did your father not want to stay and fight for the crown? Why did he choose to have you all flee at all?”

“Papa never wanted to be king,” she revealed. “He only ever wanted a simple life. Did you know that he and my Uncle James were born to farmers?”

“No. I was not aware of their origins, just that they had been adopted as infants.”

“King George adopted them when they were about nine months old. Their mother had been taken by fever over the winter and the farmer was about to lose his lands because he could not manage the farm and the babes alone. George offered him a tidy sum for the eldest boy alone, but the farmer did not wish for the boys to be separated, so he insisted that George take them both.”

“He sold his own sons?” Killian could not keep the shock from his voice. What sort of man sells his own flesh and blood?

“Only according to George,” she answered sourly. “Papa never believed the story, though. He tried for many years to track down the farmer and find out the truth, but he never found him.” Her gaze glazed over as she became lost in thought for a moment, then she shook herself and continued on. “George raised Uncle James to be his heir and practically ignored Papa. It wasn’t until the opportunity came to forge an alliance with Midas’ kingdom that George even considered Papa’s future.”

“Midas? The man who can turn anything into gold?”

“The same,” she replied, a smirk lifting at her lips that told him the story was about to get even more interesting. “Midas wanted his daughter to marry Prince James, but he was already promised to another, so George offered Papa instead. Except that Papa was already in love with another.”

“Your mother?”

“Mhmm,” she murmured with a nod, a wistful expression caressing her face as she sighed. “Snow White. A princess in her own right, but her kingdom had been overthrown and she was no more than a peasant in George’s eyes. Papa refused the match with Abigail, and George threatened to disown him. In the end, though, none of his threats mattered.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Princess Abigail was in love with another as well, and when her father found out he withdrew the marriage petition and gave his blessing to Abigail and her beau, Frederick. Not long after that Uncle James’ betrothed died before they could be wed, and he vowed to never again seek out a wife, so Papa married mother before George had a chance to use him for any other political alliances. In retaliation George stripped him of his title as Prince and demoted him to Duke.”

“From what I’ve gathered of your father, I’m guessing the demotion didn’t cause his pride to suffer too much,” Killian teased.

“No, it didn’t,” she answered with a giggle, and he chuckled as well, enjoying the mirth that sparkled in her eyes.

“And what of you?” he inquired curiously.

“What of me?”

“The granddaughter of a king, first born of a duke, stunningly beautiful and of marrying age... I find it hard to believe you are not promised to someone yourself.”

She flushed at his compliment and fought back a smile, not able to meet his gaze as she shyly answered, “No. I am not betrothed to anyone,” but then looked up at him with that slight smile at her lips.

Killian’s breath caught in his chest for a moment before he was able to respond to her admission. “I do not see how that’s possible,” he whispered softly, almost losing himself in the green depths of her eyes. He shook himself before he could travel any further down this reckless path he had somehow found himself on and added, “Not that it would matter now.”

His abrupt statement seemed to pull Lady Emma from her own private thoughts (dare he hope they were of him?), and she inquired, “What do you mean?”

“Any agreement of marriage you may have had before would be nullified now that you are subject to a new king’s rule,” he informed.

“Well, there is no marriage petition for him to concern himself with, and besides, I’m hoping that King Arthur will allow me to join my parents in exile if I agree to relinquish all my family’s land, titles, and holdings to him,” she admitted, and Killian was taken aback by her statement.

Did she not realize?

“Lady Emma,” he began gently. “The king doesn’t need you to relinquish anything to him. Your lands and holdings are already in his control due to our occupation, and as for your titles... he has the right to strip you of those as well.”

“Then, if I’m of no use to him, surely he’ll allow me passage out of the kingdom, won’t he?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, milady,” Killian argued.

Was she really so naive as to not see the potential value she held? Yes, Arthur would only value her for the political gain he could achieve, and others would only value her beauty, status, and wealth, but despite how chauvinistic it may be, that was the reality of her circumstances. She deserved to know and understand the truth. Killian wanted her to be prepared for what was to come.

If they were successful in holding Lord Baelfire off, then Lady Emma would most likely receive an audience with the king. If she had any hope of negotiating the best possible outcome for herself and all those she cared for, then she needed to understand the king’s motives.

“Milady, the people of Misthaven still see you as Lady Emma, daughter of the Duke and granddaughter to their former king. Uniting you in marriage to one of King Arthur’s nobles will go a long way to unify the kingdoms and settle further unrest. You’re far too valuable to His Majesty’s conquest for him to simply let you leave the kingdom.”

Killian braced himself for her reaction. He had seen first-hand how her temper could flare when she was being treated with indifference from others.

“Valuable.” she said in a hollow tone. “Valuable like some trinket he can use to barter with for more power? Is that what I am? Merely some trinket?!” Her eyes flashed with indignation as she stared at him expectantly, daring him to answer.

“Only a great fool would see you as a mere trinket, milady, and His Majesty is not a fool, but he is shrewd.”

“Shrewd?!” Emma exclaimed, her temper working itself up to the point of boiling over. “How is treating me as if I were some commodity to be sold off to the highest bidder shrewd? It’s no better than slavery!” she accused.

“I think that’s a bit dramatic, Lady Emma,” he said without thinking, his flippant response on the matter only causing her to spiral further into her ire.

“Dramatic? You think having your agency taken from you is not cause for upset?” she snapped viciously, causing him to wince.

He knew the truth would upset her, but he hadn’t meant to add to it with his careless words. Truth be told it had never sat well with him that women were treated this way. His own mother had been promised to his father in what boiled down to a business arrangement between two lords.

Neither had ever garnered much affection for the other, and though his mother had done her duty twice over in providing her husband with a son, his father had not even the decency to keep his mistresses hidden from her, or the court, causing her needless heartache. Until, that is, she had found solace in the arms of one of their servants.

They had kept their love for one another discreet for many years, but when his father found out about the affair he ordered the servant’s arrest and execution, his pride unable to shoulder the very slight he had forced upon his wife for the entirety of their marriage.

Killian had grown up knowing that his parents had little love for one another, but after the scandal of his mother’s affair, all pretense of devotion vanished. It was open warfare in their home after that, both of his parents turning to spirits to dull the pain, which also caused them to react violently with one another. Killian had suffered many a black eye trying to restrain his father from attacking his mother, and it was in those years that Killian had vowed to never subject a child to such a fate.  

As the younger son, Killian had no obligation to marry and produce an heir, a fact he was most grateful for. The entire endeavor of matrimony seemed ill fated, and the concept of love was as foreign to him as the native language of Agrabah. He was happy that his brother had seemed to find love with his betrothed, but Killian had never planned to take the chance. Love seemed too big a risk, and marriage without it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Of course, Killian realized now how fortunate he was that the choice was his to make. Lady Emma was right. If he was commanded against his will to take a wife, and had no say in the matter of who the woman might be, upset wouldn’t even begin to cover his response.

But he’d do it anyway.

For such a command could only come from his king, and he had vowed to serve his sovereign.

If he was ever put in such a position, Killian could only hope that he’d be able to make the best of it and treat his bride with honor. But he knew not all men cared about honoring their wives, and just such a man might be who His Majesty would consider for Lady Emma.

So, perhaps her response wasn’t so dramatic after all.

“You have every right to be upset, milady, but there are better ways to face the reality of your circumstances than letting anger overcome you,” he advised, hoping to calm her so that they may speak more productively about her situation. A hope that would go unmet it seemed.

“That’s easy for you to say. You are not facing some unknown fate from a repugnant usurper!”

He knew that her remark was meant to stir his temper, to whip him into a rage so that he might enter into a confrontation that would justify her resentments against his king.

He knew that.

But it didn’t stop his temper from flaring all the same.

King Arthur wasn’t a perfect man, and Killian had not sworn his fealty to him lightly. An insult to his king was an insult to himself, and no matter how justifiable Lady Emma’s feelings were about her situation, he would not let an insult to his king stand.

“My king is neither repugnant nor a usurper,” he growled, but his tone had little effect in intimidating Lady Emma to back down. Her posture went even more rigid, and her stare hardened. A brow raised and a smirk appeared at her lips, conveying her disbelief that his sovereign was anything other than vile.

“Arthur attacked with no cause,” she rallied. “He’s an opportunistic weasel who preys on the vulnerable and has men like you do his dirty work all in the name of fealty.”

“And what of George?” he shot back. “The man was a tyrant and a villain! You think we attacked with no cause? Do you have any idea how many villages along our borders George had burned? How many women and children were murdered by men who did _his_ dirty work in the name of fealty? He’s been after our lands for years, so yes! As soon as an opportunity came to strike, we did. But we’ve been under orders to spare the innocent. That wasn’t just a command from my brother, it was an order from our sovereign, and you’re right, milady. I follow the orders of my sovereign because I believe him to be an honorable king!”

“Honorable?!”

“Yes! Honorable!” he shouted, his breath coming in heaves, his temper at full force. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do well to heed my advice and not say another word against him!”

Lady Emma blanched, “Is that a threat, Sir Killian?”

She tried to keep a haughty note in her tone, but he could hear the trepidation in her voice and it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of well water over him. The rage he’d experienced just moments before vanished and was replaced, once again, with guilt and shame. He’d sought her out this morning hoping to prove that she could trust him, not to make her even more uneasy and fearful of his presence.

“No,” he answered softly. “I would never intend you harm, Lady Emma.”

He watched as she swallowed thickly and licked at her lips in apprehension, not quite trusting his words. Her eyes flicked toward the garden exit and he could see her mind working to find a way to excuse herself from his presence. If she left now, Killian feared he’d never be able to repair the damage his ire had caused, he couldn’t bear to have her fear him. To hate him.

“I apologize for my temper,” he offered sincerely. “I do not mean to discount your situation, Lady Emma, nor do I wish to make light of the upheaval your life has taken. You may not believe this, but I truly wish to assist you.”

“Assist me how?” she asked warily.

Killian heaved a heavy sigh and thought through his next words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to start another row with Lady Emma, and he prayed that she would hear him out.

“Everything I have said about your situation is true. Arthur does not need your consent to take your lands and holdings, but he will need your cooperation.”

“My cooperation?” she queried. “Cooperation in marrying a man of his choosing?”

“Aye. Your cooperation in the matter will only further serve to sell the illusion to the masses that the two kingdoms are at peace. Your cooperation is a point of negotiation you can use to barter for the well-being of the people you love and care for,” he explained.

“I don’t understand. Their well-being? What do you mean?”

“Let’s start with your Knights, for instance,” he continued, and was encouraged that she seemed to have set aside her anger in favor of listening to his counsel. “Your knighted men, Graham, August, and the few others who hold that title within your service, are in a precarious position. Their loyalty was sworn to the former king, and as your father’s men, the potential heir of Misthaven now holds their fealty. You could negotiate with Arthur that they be allowed the opportunity to renounce their former loyalties and swear their fealty to him in exchange for your full cooperation.”

“I’m not sure any of them would agree to do that,” she scoffed.

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but the alternative would most certainly be their death. You’d at least be giving them a choice.”

By the look of shock and anguish on her face, it was apparent that she had not considered their fate before that moment. She sat in stunned silence as she contemplated his words, and then looked up at him once more, an expression of stalwart resolve behind her eyes as she asked, “Who else’s fate could I negotiate for?”

_There was the fighter he admired._

“Your parents,” he answered. “I would imagine that Arthur has a price on their heads.”

“Why?”

“Because whether your father ever wished to be king or not, he _is_ the rightful heir. Should he return with his allies to overthrow Arthur, the subjects of Misthaven would most assuredly take up arms on his behalf. More so than they would any other would-be conqueror that would think to challenge Arthur now.”

Lady Emma nodded her understanding and acceptance of his explanation. She may not believe that her father would ever call upon his allies and attempt to take back the kingdom, but with his beloved daughter’s fate unknown to him, what man wouldn’t do everything within his power to ensure her safety. If the duke did attack, it wouldn’t be for a grab at power, it would be to save her.

Even still, Lady Emma could barter her cooperation for the king’s word that he would not hunt her parent’s down. She could even ask his indulgence to have word sent to them that she was well, an idea Killian also presented for her consideration.

“Do you think His Majesty would even consider any of these requests?” she asked, failing to keep the worry out her voice.

“All you can do is present your petition, the rest will be up to him. At least you would know you did everything you could to make the best out of your... _unpleasant_ situation.”

She snorted at his use of unpleasant to describe her circumstances, but it did not appear to offend her, on the contrary, a small, hopeful smile escaped her lips as she turned her focus to the reflection pool and continued to think over her new options.

Killian enjoyed their quiet repose as he sat tranquilly by her side, but soon his mood began to sour as he continued to think upon her fate. As much as it pleased him to know he had assisted her in formulating a plan to negotiate the best possible outcome for herself and those she cared for (though a small part of him hoped that Graham would refuse to swear his loyalty to the king), it didn’t change the fact that she would still be awarded to some noble as a prize from his king.

He told himself that it so bothered him because she deserved better, and she did, but the truth was that he could not stomach the thought that she would belong to any other man.

Another dangerous path to tread, but one that sparked an idea of his own. An idea he wasn’t sure he was ready to give too much attention to just yet.

As they both sat pondering, a rustle from the bushes to their right put Killian on guard for signs of trouble. It wasn’t trouble, but two magnificent swans that were making their way to the reflecting pool. He watched as they gracefully entered the water and began to glide effortlessly over its mirrored surface.

“Amazing creatures, those,” he mused, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

“What? The swans?” Lady Emma inquired, startling him from his ruminations.

“Aye,” he admitted timidly, though thankful that they had a new topic to discuss, however, superficial it might appear.

“Never would have taken you as a bird person,” she quipped.

“They are not just any mere bird, milady.”

“Oh, really?” she said with amused curiosity.

“Aye,” he responded. “They are beautiful and elegant creatures. Majestic and graceful, but you don’t want to provoke them for they can become quite fearsome and will attack with great ferocity,” and he considered both the feathered creatures before him and the remarkable woman beside him before he added, “Rather like you.”

“Me?”

“Aye, milady,” he affirmed, turning to meet her gaze with his full focus. “You also are a stunning creature, but woe to the man who stirs your ire,” he chuckled, a teasing smirk playing at his lips.

She flushed again at his words.

“You would liken me to a swan?” she asked with mock offense at his comparison.

“Indeed, I would,” he answered with a wiggle of his brows, that caused her lips to betray her by offering a smile. “In fact, I think it shall be my new name for you. What do you say? Would you fancy me calling you Swan?

“I would not,” she declared emphatically, but her smile continued to betray her.

“Oh, come now, Swan,” he taunted, enjoying the sound of the endearment as it passed his lips. “You’ve already told me how tedious you find it, always being addressed by your title, and it is hardly appropriate for me to call you by your given name, especially once you’re wed.”

“Let’s not go down that road again, shall we?” she warned, raising her brows back at him.

“As you wish, Swan,” he agreed tenderly, not wishing to open that particular topic again either.  

It was time for him to return to his duties anyway, and he offered to escort Lady Emma to the chapel so she could begin her tasks as well.

As they parted ways for the day, Killian couldn’t help the grin that took up residence on his face. Lady Emma seemed in much better spirits than she had been when he’d first encountered her in the gardens, and despite their quarrel (and his bloody temper) she seemed much more at ease with him as well. Perhaps even open to his continued presence? She did seem quite taken with the endearment he had bestowed upon her after all.

His Swan.

His thoughts flitted throughout the day to the idea that had sparked in his mind earlier when he’d reminded himself that she was to be a prize awarded by his king.

The idea that such a prize could become his.

Could he petition his king to consider him for such an honor? He was, after all, a loyal subject to His Majesty, a titled Knight, and the very man the king called upon when it was time to train the armies for battle. Perhaps he could get his brother to speak on his behalf as well?

Killian tried to not let these thoughts run away with him, though. Until yesterday morning he had been convinced that he’d live out the rest of his days an unattached man, never having met any woman that ever made him think twice about his stance on love and marriage, but all that changed the moment he had met Lady Emma.

Trying to convince himself that it was merely a physical attraction that could easily be cured with a quick roll in the hay was useless, he knew now what he felt for her was so much more than that. He wasn’t ready to claim it as love, not just yet anyway, and he knew he needed to keep some amount of self-preservation around his heart in case Arthur rejected his petition. A thought that painfully churned in his gut.

Of course, he could only make his petition to his king if he was able to hold off the still imminent advance from Lord Baelfire. The scouts had started to report back just after the noon meal and by mid-afternoon the news came. Lord Baelfire’s army was approximately ten miles away and would likely arrive before morning.

The castle was in a flurry of activity for the remainder of the day and well into the night. Villagers were evacuated from their cottages and brought within the protective walls of the castle proper, and provisions and resources were collected and stored for use during what could be a lengthy campaign.

Liam still had another day of travel before he would reach the King’s castle. Another day or two would surely be required before an audience was granted, and any edict from the king would take another two to three days to be delivered to Lord Baelfire personally. They would have to be prepared for the siege to last at least a week.

Baelfire could employ any number of strategies in his attack, and Killian, with the assistance of Robin, Sir Graham, and Lady Emma herself, had a contingency for each and every one of them. As long as their provisions lasted, Killian had every confidence that they would hold the lord at bay.

But one thing was for damn sure.

If for some reason they were unsuccessful, Lord Baelfire would only get his hands on Lady Emma over Killian’s cold, dead body.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

In the predawn hours of the morning, Killian watched as torch lights drew closer, dotting the location of the camps that began stationing themselves outside the castle walls. Baelfire’s army had marched through the night and would be too weary to launch an attack for many hours yet. There was still time to make sure Killian’s men were rested and prepared for whatever the man had planned. As Killian stood watch, he enjoyed the few moments of peace it afforded him.

“Have you ever had dealings with this Lord Baelfire before?” asked an approaching Sir Graham, who had apparently chosen to join Killian at the look out post.

 _So much for those few moments of peace,_ Killian thought wryly.

“Aye. We actually knew one another quite well when we were younger,” he answered, eyes still fixed on the pinpricks of light fighting against the darkness.

“You were friends?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Killian offered flatly. “The Dark One is very protective of his son. Never would let many get too close, but Bae and I got on alright. For the most part.”

 _Until Baelfire started seeking out friendships with those who held greater influence and prestige than the second son of a scandalized lord_ , he thought bitterly.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Graham asked curiously.

“When I accompanied the emissary that negotiated the alliance between The Dark One, Lord Baelfire, and my kingdom,” Killian answered.

“You were there?”

“Aye.”

“What _is_ the nature of the alliance between Baelfire and Arthur?” Graham inquired, and Killian contemplated any risks divulging the story to Sir Graham might have.

It was not a well-known tale, but Killian could see no harm in Graham having the information. If anything, the knowledge of Killian’s past dealing with Baelfire would only serve Graham with aiding in the protection of Lady Emma. Should Killian fall in the battle, it would be up to Graham and Robin to continue defending the castle. Robin already knew the tale, and it would only be to their advantage to have Lady Emma’s knights know it as well. They should all be aware of who they were dealing with.

“Baelfire reached out to King Arthur several years ago believing my king had the means to cleave his father from the Darkness,” Killian began. “Baelfire wanted Merlin, a powerful sorcerer in our kingdom, to come and perform a ritual that would rid his father of the curse. In exchange he offered several cartfulls of straw spun gold and his allegiance, should Arthur ever find himself in need of it.”

“And The Dark One knew of this plan?”

Graham’s tone reflected his skepticism that the imp would ever agree to such a thing.

 _Perhaps he’s wiser than I give him credit for?_ Killian mused.

“Aye, he was even agreeable to it,” Killian informed. “Up until the last moment.”

“What happened?”

“Part of the ritual consisted of merging The Dark One’s dagger back together with the broken sword it originally came from, which Arthur had in his possession,” Killian explained. “The restored blade was to be used to cut the darkness away from the man, but forging the blade back together also meant releasing him from the power of the dagger - it no longer controlled him. The temptation of all that power without a tether that could control him was too much for The Dark One.”

“He refused to give up his power?”

It was not really a question. Anyone even remotely familiar with The Dark One’s reputation knew that power was all that mattered to the creature.

“Aye,” Killian affirmed, and then added, “and let’s just say that Lord Baelfire was none too pleased with his father’s decision.”

“Then how were you ever able to negotiate an alliance?”

“Once forged back into a single blade, the sword had no power of control over The Dark One, but it could still kill him. The only weapon that can kill him as a matter of fact. And even though their relationship was a bit strained over The Dark One’s decision, both The Dark One and Lord Baelfire were quite adamant that we not leave in possession of the blade. In exchange for the sword Lord Baelfire swore his allegiance to King Arthur.”

“And The Dark One?”

“Does whatever the bloody hell The Dark One feels like. He aligns himself with no kingdom,” Killian muttered darkly. A moment passed between the men before Killian shrugged off his grim demeanor, and added, “Though he did make good on the several cartfulls of golden straw.”

Killian observed Graham as best he could in the dim torchlight as the man turned over the information in his mind. After a few moments, the question Killian was expecting seemed to finally formulate itself in Graham’s mind.

“So if your kingdom has an alliance with Lord Baelfire, and he’s been made aware that Arthur is now in control of these lands, why are you still expecting him to attack?”

Now they were getting to the true issue.

“Because Baelfire is his father’s son. He craves power, but not the kind his father sought, he craves the power that comes with status and the respect of one’s peers,” Killian revealed. “I don’t have to tell you how desirable these lands and the titles that accompany them are, or how valuable Lady Emma is in establishing one’s right to them.”

“I don’t understand,” Graham puzzled. “His father is The Dark One. Can’t the man just ask his father to take control over any kingdom he’d wish to rule?”

Killian scoffed. “Baelfire doesn’t want to be a king, he wants to be respected as his own man - outside of his father’s shadow. He isn’t even a real lord,” Killian divulged. “It’s a title people bestow upon him out of fear of The Dark One. If he can take control of these lands, and make Emma his wife, he’ll have an actual title and status that is all his own.”

“But won’t attacking now break his alliance with Arthur?” Graham asked.

“It would,” Killian agreed, as he added, “but only if Arthur chooses to view it as such.”

“How could he not?” Graham demanded incredulously.

“There is always a loophole to be found, and Baelfire excels at finding them,” Killian sighed irritatedly. “If we are unsuccessful in holding Baelfire off, he’ll spin the entire incident as one big misunderstanding, and with The Dark One in his back pocket, not even King Arthur would dare to call him on it. Arthur would have no choice but to relinquish these lands, and Lady Emma, in order to keep the peace.”

“If your king would not be willing to go to war against Baelfire,” Graham said with a hint of contempt, “then how do you know Baelfire will back off at your king’s command?”

“As I said, Baelfire wants to stand on his own,” Killian replied, willing that the man would understand, as he tried to keep hold of his temper. “He doesn’t _want_ to involve his father, he wants to receive the respect and status he so desperately craves on his own. There is nothing respectable in blatantly breaking one’s alliances, especially with a king as respected and well thought of as Arthur.”

Graham snorted, and Killian shot him a ‘you know I’m right’ look.

“You may not think much of my sovereign, but the rest of the realms do,” Killian informed. “Make no mistake. Baelfire may not brazenly defy Arthur, but that doesn’t mean he won’t twist and manipulate the circumstances to work to his advantage in order to gain what he desires.”

“And what he desires is prestige.”

Graham finally seemed to be catching on. “Aye.”

“Prestige he feels he can only receive as a titled and wealthy landowner in his own right, without his father’s involvement,” Graham clarified.

“Aye,” Killian sighed, knowing that Graham was on the cusp of truly understanding why Lord Baelfire had set his sights on the duke’s lands.

“Titles and land he can only gain either by Arthur bestowing them upon him, or,” and Graham paled as the full realization hit him, “if he marries Emma before Arthur’s edict reaches him.”

“Exactly,” Killian confirmed. “Baelfire is here for Lady Emma. Period. If he is successful in his attack he’ll force her into marriage, and then claim it was done to protect the lands from other opportunistic kingdoms, arguing that at least the lands are still tied to Arthur through their alliance. Should Arthur’s order arrive before he is able to accomplish that, then he’ll claim ignorance to knowing that it was truly Arthur’s subjects that had gained control of the duke’s lands, and say that he was merely seeking to take control of the lands on the king’s behalf.”

“And Arthur will choose to accept Baelfire’s account, because he will not want to risk backlash from The Dark One,” Graham resigned.

Killian nodded, thankful that Graham now truly understood the tightrope they were all about to walk. They had to protect the castle, the people, and Lady Emma at all costs, but they also had to do it in a way that kept the peace once the siege ended - whether by their defeat, or the king’s edict.

As Killian had recounted the tale of his kingdom’s alliance with Baelfire, and the man’s true motives, a thought kept nagging at him. All this time Killian had been preoccupied with thoughts of defense, believing it was the only course available to him in order to protect Lady Emma and keep to the spirit of the alliance, but what if there was a way to make an offensive play that accomplished the same goals?

“Once it becomes daylight, I want you and Lady Emma to stay out of sight,” Killian commanded. “I don’t even want to risk her being on the grounds. Keep her secured inside the castle proper, and tell the men not to even mention her name… or yours.”

“May I ask why?”

Killian glanced at Graham with raised brows. _Now the man shows deference to my authority?_

“Because it occurred to me, that before we invaded, we were under the assumption that neither the Duke and Duchess, nor their daughter, were still on the premises. We had received intel that they all had fled,” Killian shared.

“And you think Baelfire may have received the same intel? Why would that matter?” Graham questioned. “You invaded anyway, why wouldn’t he?”

Killian rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at the other knight.

Realization again dawned as Graham answered his own inquiry. “Because you were ordered to seize the lands, and his only interest is Emma.”

Killian bristled at the knight’s continued use of Lady Emma’s given name, the ease of it passing over Graham’s lips caused his temper to rise again. He calmed himself with the reminder that, while the other man may have been given leave to address his mistress in such a casual manner, so had many others in her service. How many of them could boast to having a special name for her, though? A smug smile pulled at Killian lips as he remembered the flush of pink and shy smile his Swan had worn at the offering of his endearment.

 _Get it together, Jones_ , he demanded of himself - now was not the time for petty posturing.

“At first light I’m going to send a message down to Baelfire,” Killian stated, pulling himself back to the urgent matter at hand.

“What do you plan to say?”

“I plan to send Baelfire my most heartfelt greeting, thank him for his alliance and obvious concern in Arthur’s campaign, and seek his assistance in tracking down the escaped Duke and his family,” Killian answered, with a healthy dose of sarcasm underlining the professed sincerity of such declarations.

Graham whipped his head toward Killian in astonishment.

“You’re going to lead him to believe that Emma isn’t here? Won’t lying to him betray your alliance?”

“I won’t really be lying,” Killian shrewdly countered. “The Duke has escaped, as has his wife, who is technically his family.”

“It’s still a deception,” Graham asserted accusingly.

“Aye, and you’d know all about those, wouldn’t you?” Killian jeered, causing Graham to stiffen beside him.

Killian closed his eyes and berated himself. He didn’t like the idea of employing an arguably dishonorable plan, and liked it even less that his character was being called into question, especially by Sir Graham. But if this ploy could avoid an assault altogether...

Attacking in order to capture Lady Emma, and then later spinning the facts was still a risky move for Baelfire’s tenuous reputation. If he had doubts that Lady Emma was even still on the premises he might not attack at all, but rather, would use the time to formulate a plan for seeking Arthur’s favor in granting him the lands and titles anyway.

As much as Killian hated duplicity, sometimes the only way to fight fire was with fire. Or in this case, a twisting of the truth with a twisting of the truth.

“My apologies, Sir Graham,” Killian offered. “That was uncalled for.”

“No,” Graham countered quietly. “You’re right. You’ve had little proof to formulate any opinion of me other than a dishonorable one.” He reverentially held off Killian’s protest with his raised hand, “but I have seen enough of your character these past two days to know that you wouldn’t engage in such a tactic if you didn’t believe it to be the best course of action to protect your men, this castle, and,” Graham paused, and cast a knowing (and slightly hostile) look at Killian before he continued, “...and Emma.”

Killian cocked his brow at Graham’s unspoken accusation.

“Despite our apprehensions about one another, I think we can both agree that Lady Emma’s safety and protection is of the highest importance,” Killian responded.

“Agreed,” Graham relented. “I’ll see to it that Emma is confined to the castle proper for the duration of Baelfire’s presence, or until the king’s order arrives,” then he turned and left without so much as a by your leave.

Killian shook his head, and let the affront roll off him as he turned his attentions back to the encampments. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus by engaging in a pissing contest with Sir Graham. Let the man continue with his posturing, it wasn’t going to serve him well with Killian’s brother, or his king, but it would keep Graham focused on protecting Lady Emma. As much as it might rankle Killian to put his Swan under the protection of Graham, he knew that Lady Emma trusted him completely, and would most likely follow Graham’s orders without as much argument than if he were the one issuing them.

Maybe.

As the first hints of dawn began to illuminate the horizon, Killian relinquished the watch to the reporting soldier, then set about crafting his missive to Baelfire. A messenger was sent from the castle under the flag of truce to deliver it, and Killian braced himself for the waiting of Baelfire’s reply.

* * *

 

Emma didn’t give a whit what Graham said about Sir Killian’s orders, she wanted to see the impending invasion for herself.

Having made her way up to one of the battlements, she hid just inside one of the narrow, covered walkways used to protect archers as they launched their arrows through loops in the outer facing wall. The archers had yet to be ordered to their stations, so she found it a perfectly secluded location for her to observe from. The problem was that she could see little through the the thin openings meant for arrows, nor could she discern much from peering around the wall of the walkway.

Crouching down as best she could, Emma left the cover of the walkway and made her way to the parapet itself. Just as she was about to raise herself up to peer over the wall a hand locked itself around her wrist and she was dragged back to the shelter of the walkway.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” Sir Killian exclaimed as he pressed her against the wall opposite the loops, his hands bracing themselves on the stones on either side of her head.

He looked murderous.

He looked ready to throttle her.

He looked even more attractive than when she had first met him.

That thought startled Emma, and her pulse quickened as she became aware of just how close he was to her person. No man, other than her Papa, had ever stood so close. She wagered that if she took a deep enough breath their chests would surely to touch, if she could breathe at all.

She began to worry her bottom lip at the spiraling thoughts assaulting her mind, and saw his expression soften as his head fell with a sigh of frustration. When he brought his face back up to hers she couldn’t help but stare at his lips as he ran his tongue over the bottom one before addressing her again.

“I apologize for my rough actions against your person Swan, but I gave an order that you remain in the castle proper. Would you care to explain to me why you are out here risking exposure?”

The beginning of his statement may have been meant as an acknowledgment of his less than gentlemanly behavior, and an attempt to excuse it, but Emma could not find it in herself to be upset by his actions. Especially when he had called her Swan again; an utterance that continued to cause a fluttering in her heart. No, if she were being honest, his rough actions had not caused an offense to rise in her, but something else entirely, and she flushed at the implications of such desires.

His inquiry, though, did not hold a tone of penance, but of restrained hostility over the fact that his orders had been disobeyed. He may have tried to school his features into an expression of repentance and patience, but his eyes continued to burn with a fire that only further sparked that tingling sensation that ran the length of her spine, and caused an uncontrollable shiver to overtake her, causing her flush to deepen.

The increased reddening of her complexion, and involuntary shudder that passed over her, must have led him to believe that he had frightened her again. A true expression of contrition took hold of his features, and he cupped one of her cheeks in the palm of his hand, rubbing small circles over it’s apple with his thumb.

“Swan, you have nothing to fear from me, I promise you. I truly am sorry for startling you, but you cannot be out here. I cannot risk you being seen.”

Emma finally found her voice, but it came out as only a whisper, distracted as she was by his earnest eyes and the tender touch of his calloused hands.

“I wanted to see Lord Baelfire’s army for myself.” Regaining a bit of the gumption that had led her out to the battlements in the first place, she added, “I did not appreciate your orders, Sir Killian. I feel that I have a right to know what is going on in my own castle.” She jerked her head away from his still caressing hand.

“Your castle?” Killian challenged. “Might I remind you that it is my brother who has claim over this castle and lands, in our king’s name, at present,” he stated, and then continued on in that calm tone that held a note of caution within it, “and that you yourself relinquished all command to me when you promised the allegiance of your knights.”

“Yes, but-,”

“But nothing, Swan,” he countered, his eyes fixed on hers, as he seemed to try and convey the seriousness of her actions without causing her more distress.

He just failed to recognize the true nature of her distress, which had nothing to do with his looming ire, and everything to do with the entirety of the man himself. From the way his strikingly blue eyes flickered between her own, to the heat she felt roll off his body as he pressed closer to her. From the way his voice dropped to a lower than normal register when he became serious or angry about a subject, to the way his brows seemed to communicate with his lips as they expressed a variety of responses without him having to utter a single word. Or the way he tenderly called her Swan, even when she could tell he was agitated with her.

All of these things were currently causing her great distress, but not because she found any of them to be abhorrent or unwanted, quite the contrary, she found herself irrevocably drawn to them, and thus, to the man himself. As much as she should insist that he remove himself from her personal space, Emma wanted nothing more than to pull him closer.

Oh, yes. Emma was, indeed, distressed.

“When I give an order, I expect it to be followed,” Killian pressed on. “How did you manage to elude Graham in making your way up here? I told him to keep an eye on you.”

“Graham thinks I am in the bath,” she confessed, only feeling slightly guilty for tricking her second-in-command.

The corner of Killian’s lip twitched upward and his brow raised slightly (they are absolutely in cahoots with one another), as he ribbed her for making the servants draw her a bath only to let such a luxury go to waste.

“Oh, no. My lady’s maid, Ruby, is enjoying the bath,” she assured him. “I asked her to in case Graham was listening at the door, making sure I was still in there.” She couldn’t help but smile at her own cleverness.

Killian, however, did not seem as impressed by her resourcefulness, and Emma could see his eyes darken slightly as the side of his jaw began ticking with renewed aggravation. He pulled back from her slightly and Emma felt bereft by the loss.

“Swan, as much as I admire your ingenuity, I have to insist that you follow the orders given to you,” Killian demanded, and then muttered, “and I’ll be speaking with Sir Graham about the manner in which he carries out my orders.”

The distress Emma had been feeling only moments ago seemed to transform itself entirely in response to the added space he had created between them. Wanting to regain the intimacy she had felt when he’d been nearly pressed against her, she no longer felt tentative, but emboldened. He always seemed to draw into a person’s private space when his temper was stirred, so she threw caution to the winds and decided to openly challenge the authority he had laid claim to.

“And what if I do not agree with your _orders_? I’m not just any maiden that you can command about. I am the daughter of a duke, Sir Killian. You would do well to remember that I do not give over to other people’s orders lightly,” she claimed haughtily, raising her chin in defiance at his wide eyes and clenched jaw.

His eyes then narrowed as he again pressed back into her, hands again braced on either side of her head. His voice deepened, and his mouth hovered only an inch or so over the shell of her ear as he replied, “And I am not just some second-in-command knight to a lord, Swan. I am Captain of the Guard of His Majesty’s entire army, so when I give an order. It. Is. Obeyed. Lest a man finds himself whipped and in chains, confining him to the dungeons for his insubordination.”

Emma shivered again at the sensation of his breath against her ear and throat, and briefly closed her eyes at the overwhelming assault his words made on her nerves. When she opened her eyes they were met with Killian’s hard stare, the vivid blue having darkened again to a near midnight hue.

Wondering if she was pushing him too far, what with her own insubordination and continued rebellion against his authority, Emma considered backing down and excusing herself back to her rooms. That is until she saw his brow twitch up as if it was daring her to respond.

“And is that how you plan to punish my insubordination, _Captain_?” she sassed back. “Have me whipped, and then chained to my bed in order to keep me confined to my rooms for the duration of your occupation?”

Killian’s eyes darkened further as his pupils blew wide, and a smile that could only be described as carnal stretched over his lips as he brought one of his hands to her face again - his thumb resting at the dimple in her chin as he grasped it to pull her face upward towards his.

“As tempting as having you chained to your bed may be, Swan, I’d rather you be willing and compliant to my requests in such a regard.”

Emma’s throat went dry, and her eyes widened at the realization that they were now speaking of something other than her refusal to obey his order to remain in her rooms, and she swallowed hard as the double meaning of his words set in.

 _Too far!_ her mind screamed at her.

When would she begin to heed her initial instincts that Sir Killian Jones was not a man to be trifled with?

“I...I thought we were discussing my reluctance to follow orders?” she said, in a voice that was no more than a shaky breath.

“Of course, Swan,” he replied tenderly, and perhaps because he sensed her renewed distress, he removed his hand and backed away from her again. A teasing smile now gracing his lips, as he quipped, “What else would we be discussing?”

Emma dropped her gaze, embarrassed by her recklessness and overwhelmed by the urge to run back to her rooms as fast as her legs would carry her. She heard Killian let out a deep sigh, and she chanced a glance up at him only to see him run a hand over his face, his expression one of self reproach.

“I understand why it was difficult for you to remain in your chambers,” he said, obviously trying to diffuse the tension between them by getting back to the matter at hand. “I promised you that I would keep you apprised of things Swan, and I am a man of my word, I just had other duties to attend to this morning,” he explained. “And honestly, I thought Sir Graham would bring you up to speed on the plan. He did not, I take it?”

“No,” she answered, her distress waning at the change of subject, and with his demeanor returning to that of sincere concern for her comfort. “He did not. But regardless, Sir Killian, I have no desire to hide away again. You may not believe me capable of defending myself, but I assure you that I most certainly can, and I am not afraid to face Baelfire’s army,” she declared emphatically, her boldness now returning again in full force.

“My dear Swan, I have no doubt that you are more than capable of handling yourself, but this isn’t about your bravery. There is a difference between fear and strategy.”

Emma balked at his declaration, and considered his words as she asked, “So, ordering me to stay hidden in the castle proper is due to some strategic plan you have developed?”

“Aye.”

“So, you gave that order so you could enact this plan, and not because you find me incapable or of little use in the fight against Lord Baelfire?”

Killian stepped in toward her once more, a soft smile playing at his lips, as he replied, “I thought we had established that only a fool would underestimate your value, Swan?”

“We did,” she affirmed, but then smirked as she teasingly added, “but you only commented on your king not being a fool, you gave no mention of yourself.”

A sharp, quick pain flared at her waist, and Emma shockingly realized that Sir Killian had pinched her for her cheek.

“Ow!” she complained, and slapped his arm in retaliation, causing him to chuckle. A deep, cascading sound that reverberated low in his chest, and wrapped around Emma like a warm blanket.

Killian reached up and took hold of a strand of her hair that had worked itself free of the braid she had secured her tresses in, and swept it over her shoulder as he asked, “Why do you think Graham did not tell you the plan when he relayed my orders to you?”

Emma was thrown by the unexpected question, lost in the easy moment they had just shared, but as she contemplated her kight’s reasons Emma became more and more agitated with her second’s behavior.

“Probably because Graham has always felt he has to treat me with kid gloves,” Emma replied.

“Hmm,” Killian mused, not seeming convinced of the answer.

“No, truly,” she countered. “He has always felt it was his primary duty to keep me protected from anything that might even remotely upset me. It’s infuriating, really.”  Emma could feel her temper flaring as she considered how many times Graham had done this very thing to her. “No matter how many times I order him to give me the full story, he always holds back. Even when Papa would order him to-” Emma halted at the realization that Graham may have disobeyed a direct order from Killian by not telling her the reasons behind his orders. As angry as she was at Graham, she didn’t want to see him punished for his insubordination; all he wished to do was protect her after all. Besides, he was already in a precarious position with Killian after the idiocy of his actions that very first day.

Emma looked up at Killian, dread sweeping through her as she asked, “What do you plan to do with him?”

Killian furrowed his brow and tilted his head, appearing a bit bewildered by her question, until realization dawned on him as to the nature of her concern.

“Nothing,” he assured. “I never explicitly ordered him to tell you, though based on what you’ve just told me, I don’t think we should let the man off the hook just yet, do you?” A mischievous smirk pulled at his lip as one of his brows arched up toward his hairline.

“What did you have in mind,” Emma inquired, a sly smile of her own at her lips.

Killian held out his arm for her to take, and responded, “I thought I would simply escort you back to your chambers, and then… I’d set my Swan loose on the man.”

Emma laughed and accepted his arm.

As he led her from the battlements back to her chambers, he told her of his plan and promised to send for her as soon as he received a reply from the missive he had sent Baelfire. The shocked look on Graham’s face when she and Killian arrived at her door was almost as satisfying as the contrite way he flinched at the severe tongue lashing she gave him over keeping her in the dark. Graham assured her that he would not withhold information from her again, but she had heard that before.

Promising to not leave her rooms again unless summoned by Sir Killian, Emma dismissed Graham and tried to occupy herself while she waited for word of Baelfire’s reply.

The entire exchange between herself and Killian replayed itself over and over again in her mind. She could still feel the warmth of his body as it had nearly pressed against her own, and a tingling sensation remained at all the places his hands and breath had caressed her skin. She should be scandalized by some of his actions and words, but found herself mesmerized by them more than anything else. A fact that should probably be quite troubling.

So, why was she not troubled by it?

By him?

Why did she wish for him to draw closer to her, to actually feel the weight of his body pressed against her? Why did she wish to tempt his darker impulses when she knew she would never be able to hold him off if he truly lost control? Or would want to, if she was truly being honest.

And why did she swoon every time he called her Swan? She was not some simpering maiden easily swayed by the charms of men, but charmed she most certainly was.

Her heart fluttered at the memory of his words when he’d extended his arm to her.

His Swan.

Every bit of sense in her head told her that she should not like the sound of that.

Her heart would not comply.


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Bloody minx will be the death of me yet,” Killian muttered, as he made his way back to the Great Hall after dropping his Swan at her chambers.

Killian knew the woman had been intent on playing with fire, but to what end he couldn’t imagine. To distract him from the fact that she had blatantly disobeyed his order, perhaps?

Oh, the woman was a distraction, to be sure, because now the only thing he  _ could _ imagine was Lady Emma tied up in bed… in the good way. But those thoughts, as pleasant as they may be, had no purpose in his head at present. Distractions of any kind could cost them all dearly at this point, and he needed to keep all his wits about him if Baelfire answered his missive as Killian hoped he would.

Before he could spend too much time getting caught up in more thoughts of Lady Emma, Killian’s messenger returned with news that Baelfire would be sending his reply within the hour, and that his herald was to be received by Sir Killian, and Sir Killian only.

“Why would he be sending his herald and not a written response? And why only to you?” Robin questioned, as he, August, Graham, and Lady Emma met with Killian in the Great Hall to discuss Baelfire’s expected reply.

“To leave no evidence of our exchange, I imagine. It will be difficult to claim that he did not know the castle was under the control of the king’s subject if there is written proof that he responded to my missive, which was most likely burned the moment Baelfire finished reading it,” Killian replied.

“So he sends a herald to deliver his message orally, but why only to you?” August asked, repeating Robin’s question.

“Because any message he gives to only one person would become a testimony of hearsay from those they told after the fact,” Killian explained.

“But it would still be your word against his,” Emma disputed.

“I’m sure Baelfire is not too concerned with the testimony of a dead man, Swan” Killian quipped, and then immediately regretted his flippant response when he saw Lady Emma pale at his words. The other men’s reactions to his endearment also did not escape his notice.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, worry etching itself on her lovely face.

Killian resisted the urge to caress away the crease between her furrowed brows, and instead tried to reassure her by offering what he knew would soothe her as much as any loving caress - being told the complete truth.

“If Baelfire does not wish for there to remain any evidence of communication between us, so that he can later deny knowledge of who was in control of the castle, all he would have to do is ensure my death in combat, making any other testimony a second hand account against his. All it would take is your admission that none of you were present during this supposed response for Baelfire to claim that he never sent his herald, nor received my missive in the first place.”

“So Lord Baelfire is counting on his ability to ensure your death in case whatever his response entails does not go his way?” Emma clarified.

“Aye, and he is a damned fool for doing so,” Killian boasted, and gave her a wink to further encourage her of his confidence, which released the crease within her brow as she gave over to a slight smile.

A clearing of Robin’s throat brought his attention back to his second, as the knight posed another concern.

“Do you think this herald could actually be an assassin sent to kill you?”

“I would put nothing past Baelfire at this point,” Killian conceded.

“Then I must protest to your meeting with him alone,” Robin stated emphatically.

“So must I,” Emma agreed, and Killian fought the smile that began to pull at his lips. Though there was nothing he could do to stop the swelling of his heart in response to her concern for his safety.

“Do you not think me capable of defending myself, Swan?” Killian teased. “Fret not, milady. If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.” He shot her another rakish smile as he twitched his brows towards his hairline.

“Be that as it may, Sire,” Robin interrupted, giving Killian a disapproving, though slightly amused, scowl. “I must insist on being at your side, just in case.”

“The herald is unlikely to relay Baelfire’s reply unless he and I are well and truly alone, bit difficult with you in the room. How do you propose we accomplish both?” Killian inquired of his second.

“I think I may have an idea,” Emma offered, biting her bottom lip while casting apologetic looks at both August and Graham.

Before Killian could ask her to explain, Emma made her way over to a section of the wall and pressed on some sort of hidden release that caused the panel to slide back, revealing a hidden compartment beyond.

“It’s the entrance to an old escape tunnel,” she disclosed. “The tunnel has long since collapsed rendering it useless, but there is room enough to conceal someone behind the panel.”

Killian and Robin made their way over to inspect the secret doorway, and Emma showed them how to locate the release from both sides of the wall. He probably should have been angry that such a thing had been kept from him, but instead, Killian found himself laughing at the ingenuity of both the hidden panel and the woman who revealed it.

“You are bloody brilliant, Swan, amazing” he chuckled, grinning at the rosy splashes of color that began to paint her cheeks from his compliment.

Killian didn’t think he’d ever tire of seeing his Swan flushed in pink, especially when it was caused by his own words or actions. He had to rein in thoughts that alluded to other actions he was eager to perform to see just how much of her body that hue would adorn.

“Our apologies for not making you aware of the panel sooner, Sir Killian,” August offered, snapping Killian out of his heady thoughts, thankfully before they could make themselves known to all by the state of his trousers.

_ A quick dousing in well water may be required before I meet with Baelfire’s herald if I can’t keep my wits about me,  _ Killian thought to himself before addressing August.

“I suppose I can forgive your need to keep at least a few secrets of the castle to yourselves,” Killian responded. It’s not as if it were a feasible escape route any longer, though it did prompt a new round of questioning as to what other mysteries they were concealing from him.

After many assurances that there were no other revelations to be had, assurances he only truly accepted from Lady Emma’s lips, they finalized the plan for receiving the herald and Killian left them one last set of instructions.

“Assuming that the herald is not an assassin sent to bring about my demise,” Killian began, with a dose of cheek meant to assuage Swan of any lingering concerns. “He’ll be here as much to collect information, as he is relaying it. So everyone is to be reminded to not speak of Lady Emma or Sir Graham, and we must limit his exposure to the grounds and castle as much as possible.” He then turned his attention to Emma, and with a sympathetic gaze he gave his final order, “I’m afraid that means you’ll need to stay tucked away in your chambers again, Swan.”

Emma gave him a soft smile as she placed her hand on his forearm, sending a current of want  straight through him.

“It’s alright,” she complied, “I understand.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before turning to withdraw from the room.

Not for the first time that day, Killian had to muster every ounce of restraint he possessed to not pull her into him and lay claim to her mouth. With each passing day the urge to truly make Lady Emma his own was becoming harder and harder to resist, but taking any such liberties with her before receiving the king’s favor was tantamount to treason.

For as much as Killian already thought of her as his Swan, in truth, she was not. Not yet anyhow, and depending on his king’s decision, possibly not ever. As abhorrent as the idea of one person having ownership over another was, the fact remained, Lady Emma was one of the many spoils of Misthaven now belonging to King Arthur.

As much as it pained Killian to consider, perhaps putting a bit of distance between himself and Lady Emma would be best for them both until his petition for her hand was considered.

For even though he planned to seek an audience with Arthur immediately after his brother returned, he knew he would not be the only one in contention for her hand, and there was no way to guarantee that the king’s decision would swing in his favor. If his petition was rejected he would have to find some way to live with the decision, but after that morning’s interaction on the battlements, and the way Lady Emma seemed to be opening up to him more and more, it may not be just his heart he needed to worry about.

The idea that Lady Emma’s fondness  for him was growing might just be wishful thinking on his part, but if not, Killian couldn’t risk his Swan’s heart in the gamble. She was already facing a forced marriage. How could he live with himself if she were forced to marry another after he had encouraged feelings from her that should have been reserved for her husband?

He could find a way to live with his own broken heart; he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if he broke hers as well.

Killian resolved to back off from Lady Emma’s company. It should not be too difficult to do so without causing her any offense. If their plan worked, then she would have to remain within the interior of the castle until his brother returned, while most of his duties would keep him busy on the grounds.

_ It will be better that way,  _ he told himself, which was a peculiar thought to have considering how much Killian abhorred the telling of lies.

* * *

Baelfire’s herald arrived within the hour, as promised, and he was  _ not _ there to assassinate Killian.

More’s the pity.

Killian was itching for a good fight.

With Robin secured behind the hidden panel, Sir August escorted the herald into the Great Hall then immediately departed so the man could deliver his lord’s message. One Killian had not been expecting.

Baelfire requested a summit - a face-to-face meeting usually reserved to set terms before battle, but why would Baelfire wish to set terms for a battle he would later have to claim was a misunderstanding? It didn’t make sense to Robin, August, or Graham when Killian had briefed them, but Killian knew exactly what Bae was up to.

“It means our ruse worked,” he informed them, all but crowing at this small victory. “We have planted substantial doubt in Baelfire’s mind as to whether or not Lady Emma is even still here. The call for a summit will be his attempt to get a read on me and try to ferret out the truth.”

“How will you keep it from him without breaking the spirit of our alliance?” Robin inquired.

“It’s all in the wording, mate,” Killian explained, and then turned to August, speaking to the knight directly as he continued, “This will be important for you to remember when you accompany me-”

“When  _ he  _ accompanies you? Why would Sir August accompany you?” Graham asked.

“Because as my second, Robin’s place is here, overseeing the castle and getting the men ready in case it all goes to hell,” Killian replied shortly.

“Then why am I not to escort you?” Graham pressed.

“Because, mate, you aren’t even supposed to be here. Why do you think I’ve ordered for you to remain out of sight, and for no one to even utter your name?”

Whether or not Graham comprehended Killian’s explanation, it was Sir August that seemed to need more clarification as to why it was left to him to accompany Killian to face Lord Baelfire.

“As second-in-command of the duke’s army, it only makes sense that Graham would have accompanied his lord, lady, and mistress in their escape.” Killian turned back to Graham as he added, “You and I both know that there isn’t a chance in hell of you letting Lady Emma leave this castle without you by her side, and I’d wager that Baelfire knows that, as well.”

“How could he possibly know that?” Graham scoffed.

“All he’d have to do is make inquiries at any number of the surrounding villages about the level of devotion and service the duke’s men have toward their lord and his family, and even if he didn’t, it’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Sir August will be the one to accompany me,” Killian ordered, shooting all three men a hard look indicating that the matter was closed.

“So,” August said, bring their focus back to the summit, “you were saying something about it all being in the words?”

“Aye,” Killian continued. “As long as one interpretation of the way you word your response could be considered the truth, then we can arguably state that we never actually lied.”

“Tricky,” commented August.

“Indeed, and a might distasteful, but it’s the only option we’ve got. Will you be able to handle that, Sir August?” Killian questioned, as he studied the man for any self doubt he might possess about the undertaking before them.

“Twisting my words around so that a lie isn’t really a lie? Yeah, I think I can handle that,” August answered with a cheeky grin.

A small tent had been erected between Baelfire’s encampment and the castle gates to serve as neutral ground for the summit. As he and August entered the tent, Killian was welcomed by Lord Baelfire who was flanked by a young knight acting as second.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Killian Jones,” Baelfire greeted, drawing him into an awkward hug that was, no doubt, meant to ascertain what sort of weapons Killian had armed himself with.

“Baelfire,” Killian acknowledged, enjoying the fact that his familiar address seemed to strike a nerve.

“How are you my old friend? How is Liam?” Baelfire asked, a forced amiability washing over his words and countenance as he and Killian took a seat opposite one another while their seconds remained standing.

“Liam is well,” Killian replied politely, patiently waiting for the pleasantries to pass.

“I heard of his betrothal. Is he excited for his nuptials?”

“Aye, he and Princess Elsa are set to wed in the fall,” Killian informed.

“And then he’ll be the future king of Arendelle,” Baelfire commented, a hint of rancor seeping into his tone. “Liam always was the overly ambitious sort.”

“Speaking of,” Killian bit back, while keeping his tone light and civil. “How is your father, Baelfire? Still The Dark One?”

Baelfire’s jaw clenched and Killian watched as he balled his hands into fists. The young knight at his ready gave Killian a withering stare as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword; an attempt at intimidation. Killian merely continued to smile pleasantly, and raised his brows as if he were waiting for a response to a perfectly innocent and cordial question.

“So, it is your brother who has taken occupation of the castle, is it?” Baelfire questioned, perhaps remembering that if he killed Killian now, he wouldn’t get the information he was after.

_ Just let him try. _

“Aye,” Killian responded. “He left the day before yesterday to give his report of our campaign to His Majesty. He sent you word as well when we heard you were headed this way. Did you not receive his missive?” Killian asked, an air of indifference lacing his words.

“Must have missed it in passing,” Baelfire replied. “But good thing I did. You mentioned needing assistance in tracking down the Duke and his family. So, they’ve fled, have they?”

“Aye, we received intel they were headed south, but we do not believe that they all managed to get out of the kingdom before our invasion.”  _ And I do not believe it because I have the proof of it with one member of the family currently confined to her rooms in the castle,  _ Killian recited in his head.

He always found that to be a helpful tactic whenever he was forced to engage in games of trickery, such as he was currently playing.

“And you’ve sent search parties out looking?” Baelfire continued questioning.

“Not as yet. This is only the third day of our occupation. My brother left immediately to give his report to King Arthur, and Sir August,” Killian waved his hand towards the knight as way of introduction, “and I have been busy tending to the wounded and securing the castle.”

“Sir August?” Baelfire responded with keen interest. “He’s not one of yours, and he is not the duke’s second-in-command. Where is Sir Graham?” he asked of August.

As Killian had suspected, Baelfire had come well informed.

“Sir Graham wished to accompany Lady Emma, my lord,” August answered.

Killian internally praised August for his sly wording. Graham had indeed wished to accompany Lady Emma, and would have, (still would) if afforded the chance.

“I understand from my herald that the duke’s men have been given leave to roam the grounds freely.” Another mark in Killian’s column; the herald had been a spy after all. “Bit reckless of you, Killian.”

“An accord was set between Sir Killian and our soldiers,” August offered as way of explanation, and Killian stiffened slightly that the knight had drawn Baelfire’s attention back to him.

August’s answer had once again sparked Baelfire’s interest, and his eagerness for details sent a sliver of dread up Killian’s spine. What angle was the man pursuing? August had done well to answer one question, but was the man up for a volley of duplicity?

“What sort of an accord?”

“We swore allegiance to Sir Killian, and he’s allowed us to resume our duties, tend to our wounded, and assist with repairs to the castle.”

“And why would you swear to such an allegiance?”

“It was that or the dungeons, my lord. What would you have chosen?”

Killian smirked at August’s cheek.

“So you had a choice in the matter?” Baelfire countered.

“I’m not sure what your lordship is asking?”

“Were the terms set by Sir Killian and yourself, or someone else?” Baelfire clarified, and Killian felt his confidence shake a bit.

There it was.

The rabbit Baelfire had been chasing with his questions.

He knew that in order to strike such an accord, the highest ranked official from each party negotiated and agreed to terms. If Baelfire believed their ruse, then it would have been August, not Lady Emma, with whom the deal had been struck. August would need to parse his words very carefully.

“The terms were set to me by, Sir Killian.” August answered, which was true. It had been Killian who had addressed all the men, outlining the terms of the agreement.

“And you did not negotiate those terms with him?”

“No.” Also true. August was not a part of the negotiations.

“Why not?”

August heaved a sigh and shifted his weight to a more relaxed stance. “My lord, may I speak freely?”

“Of course, Sir August.” Baelfire permitted, shooting both he and Killian a look of benevolence.

_ Lie. _

“Neither myself, nor my men have any misconceptions about our situation,” August began. “We are subjects of an overthrown king. A king we all swore a fealty to which now resides with his heir, who also happens to be the duke we’ve sworn to serve. I’m sure you would agree that our situation is precarious at best.” August paused and waited for Baelfire to respond.

“Yes, Sir August,” Baelfire replied. “I would agree that your situation is not ideal.”

And then in a master stroke, August turned the tables on Baelfire.

“If a high ranking member of a new monarch’s army offers you an opportunity to prove yourself as hardworking and loyal, you do not risk his good graces by haggling,” August decreed, albeit speaking in hypotheticals. “You agree to whatever terms are given, and hope that when the time comes he will be gracious enough to put in a good word for you with the king, possibly staying your execution.”

If Lady Emma successfully negotiated for the lives of her Knights, Killian planned an immediate promotion for Sir August. The man was bloody brilliant.

“And do you plan to put in a good word for the duke’s men?” Baelfire asked, turning his attention to Killian once more.

“That depends.” Killian shrugged.

“On what?”

“On the audience with the king.”  _ Emma’s audience, that is. _

“You plan to seek an audience with the king?” Baelfire clarified.

“Aye.”  _ To petition for my Swan’s hand. _

“And during this audience you’ll discuss the duke’s men?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“What else would you seek an audience for, then?” Baelfire questioned.

“Why would anyone seek an audience with His Majesty at a time like this?” Killian side-stepped.

“I’m not asking about others’ reasons, I’m asking about yours,” Baelfire pressed.

“And my reasons are my own,” Killian answered flatly.

“And you won’t share them with an old friend?” Baelfire asked in mocked offense.

“I won’t even share them with my brother, mate.” he grinned as the  _ lord _ once again bristled at Killian’s lack of deference.

Getting nowhere with this line of questioning, Baelfire turned his attentions back to August.

“So, for three days you’ve been under Sir Killian’s authority alone?”

“Ever since Lord Jones left to report to the king,” August replied.

“And how long ago did the Duke flee?”

“Just before King Arthur declared war,” August answered, unphased by the change of course.

“And, Lady Emma fled with the duke?”

“That is what the intel indicated,” Killian interjected with a smirk, hoping his sarcasm would distract Baelfire from posing that exact question again.

“Come Killian, give me a straight answer,” Baelfire demanded. “If I were to enter the castle gates right now, would I find Lady Emma anywhere on the grounds?”

Though he would have loved nothing more than to rile Baelfire further, Killian knew that the man’s patience was growing thin. Eager to put the questioning to an end, Killian responded with a firm, “No. You would not.”

_ And he wouldn’t… find her on the grounds that is, as she was currently in the castle proper and  _ not _ on the grounds. _

Baelfire let out a frustrated sigh and narrowed his eyes at Killian.

“So you are telling me plainly, that Lady Emma is not currently being held under your occupation,” Baelfire asked Killian directly.

Killian gave only a moment’s hesitation before answering.

“No, Baelfire. She is not.”

Killian could feel Sir August tense up next to him, the man obviously believing that Killian had told an outright lie. Later he would explain to the knight that he had been one hundred percent honest in his reply.

For one, occupation indicated possession, control, and ownership. Killian was sure that August would agree that no man could ever claim to truly possess, control, or own the Lady Emma. Second, it  _ technically _ wasn’t Killian’s occupation, it was Liam’s, in King Arthur’s name.

“When do you plan to send out a search party?” Baelfire asked, seemingly satisfied with Killian’s answer. Well, satisfied that Killian had not been lying anyway. He was far from satisfied as it related to his overall agenda for being there.

“Sometime after the noonday meal.”  _ Which is how much time I’ll need to organize a search party I hadn’t actually planned on sending out,  _ Killian mused.

“Well, my men have had a long trek, I’m afraid I wouldn’t feel right subjecting any of them to a longer journey when they haven’t had time to properly rest.”

_ Doesn’t mean you won’t send any to spy on mine to make certain of their endeavors, though,  _ Killian mused knowingly.

“You plan to withdraw back to your own lands, then,” Killian stated, for it wasn’t a question, more like a heavily encouraged suggestion.

“Actually, no. I feel it my duty to stay and help you defend the castle.”

Killian knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Defend the castle? From who?” August asked suspiciously.

“We have word that Lord Midas is set to attack these lands.”

“Midas?” August scoffed. “The man can turn anything into gold. Why would he bother to attack these lands?”

“He  _ can _ turn anything into gold, but he cannot summon new lands out of thin air,” Baelfire quipped. “The duke’s lands are known to be some of the richest and most fertile in all of Misthaven,” Baelfire stated as an offering of proof to his assertion that Midas was set to attack, which Killian felt quite certain held no merit or truth.

“So you mean to aid in our defense until the king is able to secure his hold over all these lands, is that it?” Killian surmised.

“Of course! What sort of ally would I be if I left the king’s new conquest vulnerable to other opportunistic kingdoms?”

“Hmm, indeed,” Killian mused, and as Killian and August began to take their leave, Baelfire questioned Killian once more.

“Oh, Killian. When do you expect Liam to return?”

“By week’s end,”  _ if not a before, _ Killian hoped.

“And once your search party has departed, are you anticipating anyone else leaving the castle grounds?”

“No,” Killian replied, brows furrowed with uncertainty as to why he was asking.

“Good,” Baelfire replied. “Might be best to make sure no one does, then. Would hate for my men to mistake yours for Midas’ spies, if they were to leave the protection of the castle walls.”

“Of course, Bae,” Killian ribbed at the man one last time, now cognizant of his veiled threat. “How considerate of you to advise me.” Killian departed from the man he had once called friend.

* * *

She had endured several tense hours of waiting, so when the summons finally came for Emma to join the knights in the war room, a rush of relief swept through her. She all but ran through the halls, eager to hear the report of the bizarre summit Baelfire had requested, and, perhaps, to also reassure herself that Sir Killian (and August. Of course she had been concerned for him as well, she reminded herself) had indeed returned unscathed.

Their report was given without interruption, and Emma could not help the swell of pride she felt for August as Sir Killian praised his efforts in the intricate game of wits he had engaged in with their opponent. All expressed their relief and elation at the news that Baelfire seemed to believe that Lady Emma had, indeed, fled, but new concerns over his refusal to depart and his veiled threat brought about new questions and conserns.

When asked what the man planned to gain by staying and threatening those who might wish to depart the castle, Sir Killian had explained that if Baelfire could not stake claim over the lands and titles by forcing a marriage with Emma, then he would plan to do so by petition. If Emma  _ had _ fled with the rest of her family, their titles would have been stripped from them and offered to Arthur’s nobles anyway. Therefore, Baelfire planned to stay close to the lands he aimed to possess, to ensure no resolution occurred until he had his chance to request an audience with the king.

His threat that no one leave the castle was his way of attempting to control the flow of information that might travel between the duke’s lands and the king, or any other noble that might also be seeking the king’s favor.

As the briefing went on, Emma started to notice a distinct change in Sir Killian’s conduct toward her. Not once did he refer to her as Swan, and his responses, though polite and deferential, lacked their usual warm banter. After he had given his orders that she and Graham were to remain concealed and the men needed to stay alert and at the ready, he dismissed them all and quickly departed. She tamped down her disappointment that he had not asked her to join him for the noonday meal, and joined August and Graham for her repast instead.

An invitation did not arrive for the evening meal either, nor did he check in on her before she retired to her chambers for the night. She lay awake longer than she’d care to admit trying to deduce the cause of his withdrawal, attempting to excuse it away on account of the disquiet he must be experiencing.

Graham had confided in her of his conversation with Sir Killian in regards to his history with Baelfire. They had apparently once been friends, but by evidence of August’s witness, the two no longer shared any sort of affection for the other. Had Baelfire’s presence opened old wounds for Sir Killian?

Even without the sting of hurtful memories to needle at their recent interaction, the mere fact that Lord Baelfire was currently camped outside the castle walls would be cause enough to ferment Sir Killian’s disposition, and yet, Emma did not believe that to be the underlying reason for it. While he seemed to be relating to all others in the manner he always had, his contact with her had dwindled to mannerly, but curt nods, to sheer avoidance in less than day’s time.

Had she done something wrong?

No offense came to mind, other than her disobedience that morning, which he seemed to have forgiven, if his behavior during their exchange on the battlements gave any indication. The recollection of which had her flushing, and her thoughts began to wander from Sir Killian’s sudden mood change to his other, more rousing, moods and attributes. Musing that left her feeling all together too warm, and filled with a tension that made her sleep restless and ineffective in relieving the unusual strain upon her nerves.

A strain that, upon waking, left Emma feeling none of the affectionate concern she’d had for the knight the previous evening, but rather, an irritation and annoyance at being ignored. Childish, perhaps, but Emma was not used to being denied the attentions she sought, and she wanted the attentions of Sir Killian Jones; a realization that gave her an entirely new set of matters to fuss over.

By the time the noonday meal had passed without so much as a glimpse of or word from him once more, Emma took matters into her own hands and had him summoned, with the explicit instruction that she would not accept no for an answer.

_ Just who does he think he is,  _ she thought irritably, as he kept her waiting for nearly an hour before appearing at the door of her solar. Though she had worked herself up into quite a state of agitation by then, she couldn’t help the treasonous surge of euphoria that swept through her at his presence.

“Well Swan, why did you summon me?”

He made no attempt to even look upon her, and held himself with an air of annoyance for having been pulled away from his duties to answer her beck and call. The cool indifference of his demeanor lashed at her in a way that was far worse than if he’d physically raised a hand to her. Troubled again by the thought that she must have somehow disappointed or angered him, a melancholy replaced irritation, and she began to wonder if she  _ were _ somehow to blame for his prolonged absence.

Stinging tears made their way to the corner of her eyes, but she refused to give them indulgence. Clearing her throat, which had become quite tight in response to his continued detachment, she hesitantly addressed him.

“Have I...have I done something to offend you, Sir Killian?” The shaky strain of her voice against the threatening tears seemed to snap him from his temperament, and she watched as his features reflected the alarm he must have felt over her distress.

“Are you angry with me?” she whispered, and lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze as she felt a tear escape and make its way down her cheek.

He took purposeful strides towards her and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. Leaning into its soothing warmth, she relished the rough feel of it on her delicate skin.

“No, Swan,” he answered tenderly, though a sense of torment hovered just under the surface of his expressions. “How could I ever be angry with you?”

In any other man’s presence Emma would have managed to keep a brave and unaffected visage, as to avoid appearing weak, but she felt no need with Sir Killian. Though she did chafe at the sound of her own meekness, and could feel a blush settle high on her cheek bones, it did not stop her from freely admitting the true nature of her anxiety.

“I thought, perhaps, you had withdrawn your attention because you were displeased with me,”

she confessed. Her bottom lip was held firmly between her teeth as she gazed up at his eyes, which appeared clouded with their own swirling contemplations, and tried to weigh the earnestness of his response against what she saw reflected within their depths.

“My apologies, Swan,” he offered gently, his thumb now caressing her cheek. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention.” Killian offered her a reassuring, and utterly dashing smile as his brows twitched their way upward to his hairline, as they did anytime he attempted to lighten her mood.

She could almost taste the tension that rippled around them, and her heart began to increase its rhythm as she witnessed his eyes grow dark, and the muscle in his jaw started to pulse. She swallowed and swept her tongue over her lips, drawing his eyes to her mouth briefly. Before she could surrender to the urge to lean into him further, he released her cheek and took a small step back, seeming to shake off whatever spell they had found themselves under.

“I pray your forgiveness for my...” he paused, struggling to find the appropriate word. After a moment he let out a sigh as he shook his head with a sort of resignation. “It seems I have been remiss in certain ways of thinking that have affected my actions towards you. An error I mean to correct starting this very moment.”

“And just how do you plan to do that, good sir?” she asked coquettishly, hoping her smile and refreshed disposition would assuage him of any lingering guilt he might harbor at causing her suffering.

Sir Killian offered her his arm as he replied, “You must be positively fed up with being confined to your chambers, Swan. What say you take me on a tour of your home?”

Emma beamed at the offer to leave her chambers for a destination other than the dining hall, and Sir Killian returned her smile as she accepted his arm.

“We’ll have to stay to the interiors, but you can regale me with all your childhood memories,” he said with an eager smile. “I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

By the time Killian escorted Lady Emma back to her chambers, all had been forgiven.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian and Emma's affection towards one another begins to grow as they await for the arrival Lord Jones and the expected summons from the king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely from Killian's POV. The line break indicates a change of scene.

**Chapter 6**

Killian Jones was a bloody damned fool.

Why he ever thought he could keep his distance from Lady Emma, he’ll never know.

He’d been determined to maintain his resolve when he received her summons. It took him nearly an hour of mental preparation before he trusted his convictions enough to finally make his way to her chambers. He had already been vacillating with his decision since early that morning when Robin had urged him to seek out her company, hoping it would alleviate the surly temperament he’d unleashed on the men during their training.

He’d prepared himself for her possible ire, or, perhaps, simple bewilderment over his sudden withdrawal. What he hadn’t prepared himself for was the depth of torment his actions had caused her, nor her admission and displayed vulnerability in reaction to his absence. He had meant to minimize her potential heartache with his retraction, only to now realize that, perhaps, his Swan had already began to fall for him, as he had for her.

Unwilling to deny himself the pleasure of her company any longer, and arguing that the damage may well have already been done, Killian vowed, that in case the king did reject his petition, he wouldn’t waste what precious time he and Lady Emma had together. If all that remained of one another after the king’s decree were memories, then he wanted those memories to be filled with affection, not regret.

Though he still had his duties to see to, Killian reserved time each afternoon to escort Lady Emma through the castle. He revelled in all her tales of childhood, and could almost picture her in each setting; the young, golden haired girl, who was adored by her parents, and met no end of trouble from the mischievous influence of a young August, who, apparently, had also been raised in the castle - his father having been the Duke’s Master Craftsman - and was still regarded with fraternal affection by Lady Emma.

Over the course of the week, Killian learned much about his Swan and her castle from their strolls through the various galleries and salons. It was a solo visit back to one of the galleries the morning after their reconciliation that Killian learned something very valuable.

His Swan had a secret.

On that first afternoon’s stroll she’d shown him the large gallery that had been converted by the Duke to serve as an interior training space. The vast expanse of the room allowed for plenty of maneuverability to train with sword or staff, and even had length enough to set up targets for archery. It had been Killian’s intention to visit the gallery that morning in order to afford himself some training, but apparently, his Swan had woke with the same intention.

Facing off against one of her younger knights, Killian watched as Lady Emma sparred with more prowess than some of his finest swordsmen. She had expressed her ability to defend herself when they had been on the battlements, and he had not doubted her proclamations, but he never imagined she’d possess the amount of skill displayed before him as she soundly bested her knight.

Killian returned to the gallery the following two mornings, and found a secluded vantage point by which he could study his Swan’s fighting style without being observed himself. In addition to the sword, Lady Emma held great proficiency with the bow, hitting her target dead center again and again almost without fail. Killian found himself enamored anew with this wondrous woman who hadn’t stopped surprising him since the moment they’d met, and he hoped she never would.

He made no mention of her morning activities when they continued their promenade in the afternoons, resolving that it must give her some form of comfort to keep her abilities hidden from him, and he reminded himself, once again, that even though a fondness had developed between them, he still represented the conquering king that held the uncertainty of her fate in his grasp.

On the seventh day of the occupation, and the fourth afternoon of their shared excursions, Lady Emma seemed no longer content to offer up anecdotal histories of herself, and began pressing him for tales of his own upbringing. Though they may not have been filled with the warmth and love her memories evoked, Killian did not shy away from giving a full account to her inquiries. Unpleasant as his childhood may have been, he had no wish to hide away any part of himself from her.

They weren’t all tales of woe, however. Killian shared happier stories of he and his brother, assuring Lady Emma that even though she may have experienced a marred first impression of him, Liam was actually among the finest of men, and one that Killian was proud to serve alongside.

“You mentioned that your brother was betrothed.”

“Indeed, he is,” Killian confirmed proudly. “To the heir of Arendelle, Princess Elsa.”

“I have not had the pleasure of making Princess Elsa’s acquaintance,” she admitted, as they sat on one of the salon sofas that overlooked the castle gardens.

“I think you would like her,” he stated. “The two of you share a similar spirit.”

“Is that your way of saying that she’s stubborn as well?” she teased.

“Not at all, Swan,” he tsked. “I’m saying that she is every bit as lovely, charming, determined, and tenacious as you are.” He winked at her before adding, ”And she’d have to be to put up with my brother,” he quipped, raising his brows in emphasis.

“As any woman would have to be to put up with you as well, I imagine?” she said offhandedly, but then blushed at the implication of her statement.

An implication that Killian tucked away inside his heart, which had begun to ache with the knowledge that his brother was sure to return any day, and these treasured moments with his Swan, where he could pretend she was already well and truly his, would be at an end.

Perhaps sensing his shift to somber thoughts, and wishing to steer the conversation from betrothals and marital matches, Lady Emma broached a new topic for them to explore.

“How did you become King Arthur’s Captain of the Guard?” she asked. “From what you’ve told me of your upbringing, it seems an unlikely opportunity to ever be afforded to you, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“You are correct, Swan” Killian agreed, shaking off the vestiges of his overcast thoughts. “In most kingdoms, someone like myself - second son of a scandal embroiled family - would never have been able to curry the favor required to receive such an honor. But Camelot isn’t like other kingdoms.”

“No?” she asked with inquisitive brows.

“Do you know much about Camelot’s history?”

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted, and settled herself closer to him on the sofa so she could offer her full attention, leaning in and gazing at him with great interest.

As it had often happened in the quiet moments they had shared over the past several days, Killian found himself lost in Lady Emma’s gaze. He’d taken great pains to commit every fleck of gold within their green depths to memory, along with every line, freckle, and expression of her exquisite face. The hope that his petition would be favorably received by his king lived deep within his soul, but he would take no chance of ever forgetting even the most minute detail of the extraordinary woman who had captured his heart so thoroughly, in case his hope went unrealized.

As his eyes feasted on the bounty of her beauty, and all that which he would wish to remember of her, his other senses cried out for equal consideration. Though the sight of her elegance and sounds of her voice and laughter had been thoroughly catalogued, as had the scent of her lavender infused skin, he longed to add the taste and feel of his Swan to his index as well.

A temptation that taunted him in moments such as these when they were completely alone, but one he continued to refrain from indulging. He was still Captain of His Majesty’s Guard, and she was still his sovereign’s prize. He had an obligation to his king to protect her from such advances, even from himself.

This firm reminder of his duty brought him back to the discourse his Swan had engaged them in, and he refocused his attentions on revealing the mysteries of Camelot to her rather than uncovering her mysteries for himself.

“Our last king, before Arthur,” he began, “had no heirs. He was ill and knew that death was coming for him soon, and he worried about leaving the kingdom in turmoil. None of his nobles seemed well suited to be the next king, so, instead of naming a successor, the king reached out to Merlin for assistance.”

“The sorcerer?”

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Merlin devised a test of sorts. One that could only be passed by a true king of Camelot. After the old king died, Merlin enchanted our borders in order to protect Camelot from outside invasion.” Killian paused giving her a sad smile, acknowledging that her current circumstances would not be so if Misthaven had been able to acquire such a protection. “He then presented the test to all the citizens of the kingdom. Whoever was able to pull an enchanted sword from the stone it was buried in would be the rightful king of Camelot.”

“A sword,” she repeated dubiously.

“An enchanted sword, Swan. Do keep up,” he chided, as he poked at her side playfully, earning him a smack on his shoulder. “For many years it became an annual event, as lords, nobles, and knights each tried to claim the sword and the throne as their own, but none were ever successful.”

“Only the titled were allowed to try?” she questioned.

“Merlin never explicitly restricted the pool of potential candidates to just the titled,” he clarified, “but the gentry could not fathom that the next king would be anything but. So imagine their surprise when one day, while a bunch of squires and knights-in-training were bragging and boasting with one another about how they could be the future king, while each taking a turn to pull out the sword, one of them actually did.”

“Arthur,” she deduced.

“The very same.”

“So,” she began hesitantly, the pull of a smirk lifting at the corner of her mouth as she asked, “Arthur became king because he pulled a sword out of stone. And you believe such a tale?”

“Of course I do, Swan,” he answered, as if personally affronted by her skepticism. “After all, if Arthur hadn’t cut in front of me and taken my turn, it could have just as easily been my tale.”

“You were one of the squires?” she asked incredulously.

“Knight-in-training, actually,” he corrected with a wink. “After Arthur pulled out the sword - and you should have seen the look on his face, Swan, bloody priceless - Merlin appeared, and confirmed to all and sundry that Arthur was indeed, the new king of Camelot.”

“That still doesn’t tell me how you became Captain of his Guard.”

Killian could feel a blush of modesty creep up his neck. He wasn’t embarrassed of the tale by any means, but he never had felt comfortable boasting of his own exploits. He’d been content to let others herald the account for him, which inevitably made him sound much more impressive with their eventual exaggerations.

“Arthur was low born,” he explained. “By all rights he should never have been appointed king, but by the hand of fate he was afforded a new destiny. Arthur never let a person’s station disqualify them from opportunity. So, when it came time to replace the old Captain of the Guard, Sir Lancelot, Arthur, true to form, devised a test. Whoever could truly best him in combat would be knighted, if they weren’t already, and from that assembly he would choose his Captain.”

“You had to fight the king?” she exclaimed, staring at him in astonishment and causing his blush to crest at the tips of his ears.

“Aye,” he answered.

“So you were one of the men who bested him?”

“I was the _only_ man to truly best him, Swan,” he revealed.

“You were?”

“Well,” he expounded, “others did win their bouts with him, but I was the only one who truly fought him.”

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“It is one thing to spar with your king, Swan,” he explained, “or train with him. But when it comes to competing against your king, there is a certain unspoken rule that most adhere to.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You let the king win, or you let him let you win. You never truly best your king. All the others followed this precedent.”

“But not you,” she surmised with a smile.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Arthur asked me that same question after I helped pick him up off the ground,” Killian smirked. “I told him that I live my life by a code. One that is based on something my brother said to me long ago.” His eyes held hers as he repeated the proverb on which he had built his entire life upon. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. Arthur knighted me and named me Captain of the Guard right then and there.”

“So,” Emma began, hesitant again, as if she might be about to say something that would cause him offense, “did you feel you owed Arthur your fealty since he gave you a chance to prove yourself?”

Killian smiled softly, reassuring her. “I did not _owe_ Arthur my fealty,” he answered. “I gave it to him freely, and of my own accord, because I know him to be a just and honorable man, Swan.”

_Who now holds both of our fates in his hand,_ Killian thought to himself, as he let loose the hope from within that Arthur would afford him the same consideration as it pertained to the Swan he would never stop fighting for.

Later, after the evening meal, Killian escorted Lady Emma back to her chambers, which had also become their custom over the past several days. However, unlike the previous evenings, her night watchman was not yet stationed outside her door, giving them one last moment of solitude.

“Do you think your brother will return tomorrow?” Lady Emma asked, seeming as unwilling for their time to end as he was.

“It’s possible.”

“And when he does return,” she continued, “do you think Baelfire will immediately withdraw?”

“Most likely,” he assured. “He’ll want to make haste to the king’s court to request an audience, I imagine.” Killian, for the first time since he’d offered her his hand to assist her off the chapel floor that first day, took her hand in his, as he revealed, “Swan. After my brother returns, I too will be leaving in order to seek an audience with Arthur.”

“You’re leaving?” Panic edged her voice.

“I won’t be gone long,” he promised, “but I have matters to discuss with the king as well.”

He had yet to tell her of his intentions to petition for her hand, unsure of how she would respond. Though it was clear that she held a certain amount of affection towards him, petitioning his king to receive her as favor would still mean taking the choice from her. If his sovereign did grant his petition, Killian could simply ask her to marry him, giving her agency back to her, but he feared that if she refused him, Arthur would simply award her to another; one who wouldn’t care about her choice in the matter.

“Perhaps the king will send word requesting my presence at court, and I can travel there with you,” she said hopefully, but then sobered at the realization of what the summons would mean.

“Perhaps, so,” he answered, running his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to offer some measure of comfort.

She gave him a small smile that did not quite meet her eyes and bid him good night. Not wanting her to retire with such worries on her mind, Killian lifted her hand to his lips and brushed it with a light kiss, while never taking his eyes from hers. She let out a soft gasp, and he grinned against her smooth skin as a wave of pink swept across her cheeks.

“Sweet dreams, Swan,” he murmured along her knuckles before releasing her hand.

Her shy smile reached her eyes this time and she glanced away from his intensity, her flush deepening and causing Killian to consider more than just a kiss to the back of her hand. However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching steps; her night watchman reporting for duty.

“Good night, Sir Killian,” she responded, hearing the approach as well, then gently closed the door behind her as she gave him one last smile.

Killian let out a heavy sigh at her absence and then turned to go about his duties, long neglected due to the extended afternoon and evening he’d chosen to spend in the presence of his Swan. He was met by the night watchman, who stood rooted in stunned regard at his presence.

“Soldier,” Killian acknowledged with a tilt of his head in the young man’s direction, which seemed to free the watchman from his paralysis.

“S-sire,” he responded tentatively, taking his position outside his mistress’ door while shooting Killian nervous glances when the knight did not immediately depart.

“I do not believe we have been acquainted yet,” Killian commented, hoping that a casual introduction would alleviate the young man’s discomfort.

“N-no, sire,” he stuttered. “I’m Peter.”

“Well, Peter. You’ve my thanks for keeping watch over Lady Emma,” Killian offered. “Guard her with your life, lad.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the watchman replied, and Killian set off once more.

An hour later, Killian was still seeing to his evening duties, seeking out the reports of the day’s activities and giving his orders to those who held the overnight watch of the castle grounds. It had been four days since his summit with Baelfire and little to no activity had been detected from the lord’s encampment. With each passing day Killian felt more and more confident in the security of the castle, and that of Lady Emma, as it meant one day closer to the king’s order reaching the interloping ally and sending him on his way.

He could not be more pleased with the operation of things within the castle walls, all things considered. Tensions that had been at near combustible levels between Lady Emma’s men and his brother’s men a week ago had lowered to more cooperative humors, giving the entire environment of the castle a more amiable aura. Many of the wounded had recovered enough to report back to duty, and those who would require a longer convalescence continued to improve steadily day by day.

All-in-all, Killian was proud of the conditions his brother would return to, and he looked forward to relaying the report to Arthur as well, believing his success in the aftermath of the conquest could only strengthen his petition. After all, who else in Arthur’s service already held the respect of the duke’s men, knew the castle and grounds inside and out, had defended its lands from pending attack, and kept Lady Emma safe from harm? How could Arthur possibly deny Killian’s viability as a worthy candidate, not just for the Lady Emma, but as lord over these lands and people as well?

Killian smiled at the renewed hope stirring in his heart as he made his way back towards the castle from the grounds. Passing by the corner tower that housed Lady Emma’s chambers, he gazed up at her window. Lost in visions of her laid out in her bed with her golden locks spread over her pillow, and a smile on her lips (possibly from dreaming of him), Killian almost didn’t notice that the soldiers who were supposed to be guarding the grounds below her rooms were absent.

He frowned at the uncharacteristic negligence of his men and sought out Robin for an explanation. Finding his second in the Great Hall, Killian wasted no time inquiring as to the reason why Lady Emma’s window had been left unattended.

“I don’t understand,” Robin replied. “I left orders with two men to report there immediately after the evening meal.”

“Well, they bloody well aren’t there now,” Killian responded, his temper flaring at the news that two of his men were derelict in their duties.

A quick search found the men in question back in the barracks enjoying a round of spirits with other off duty soldiers. They insisted that they had been relieved of duty by two of Lady Emma’s men, who had told them it was on Sir Killian’s order via Sir Graham. Killian left the men in Robin’s custody while he sought out Graham, and a churning began to roll in his stomach.

Something was not right.

His search led him back to the Great Hall where it appeared Sir Graham was about to retire for the evening.

“Sir Graham,” Killian called out. “A word, if you please.”

But the question never left his lips as a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the hall, turning Killian’s veins to ice.

_Swan!_

Killian pushed his way past Graham, and every other man who might stand in his way, as he raced up the steps and down the corridor towards Lady Emma’s chambers. As he approached her door Peter drew his sword on him, and it was then that Killian realized the reason he had not met the young man before; he was not one of Lady Emma’s men.

Graham, who had been right on Killian’s heels, advanced on the young man and Killian made his way to the door, thanking all the gods that it was not locked, (a request he had made of Lady Emma so that her guard could quickly come to her aid if need be).

Once Killian made it through the door everything was over in a matter of seconds, but to him it all played out in agonizingly slow motion.

Two men were attempting to restrain Emma, but her fierce thrashes kept them from securing lengths of rope around her wrists and ankles. The man at her feet turned and drew his sword, charging at Killian, who dispatched him rather quickly.

The other man, who Killian recognized as the young knight who had accompanied Baelfire at the summit, also drew his sword as he hauled Emma up to stand in front of him, his forearm wrapped against her throat. Emma clawed at his arm, stamped on his feet, and was able to get a solid hit to his face with her elbow, which caused the man to tumble back toward the open window.

In a heart stopping moment Killian watched as the man lost his footing and started to fall over the sill, but not before grabbing Emma’s arm as he went. Killian and Graham, who had entered the room after taking care of young Peter, reached Emma just in time to keep her from falling through the window herself, and Killian slashed at the man forcing him to release her before he fell to the ground below. Dead.

For a terrifying second Killian’s mind fabricated an image of Lady Emma lying broken on the ground below as well. Panic still coursing through him, Killian turned to check that his Swan was okay, only to see Graham pull her into his arms, an action that had Killian seeing red, as anger replaced relief.

Tempted as he was to pull her from the man’s embrace, Killian forced himself to remember that there were more pressing issues before him than his territorial impulses toward Lady Emma, so he allowed Graham to offer her a moment of comfort as he shouted commands at the men who had come in response to their lady’s screams.

“Dispose of that,” Killian ordered, motioning to the man he’d killed upon entering, “and sweep the grounds. Make sure no more of Baelfire’s vermin are on the premises.”

As he relayed more orders, and tried his damnedest to keep his temper under control, he became aware of Emma’s struggle to release herself from Graham’s overprotective hold while also trying to reassure him.

“I said I’m fine, Graham!” she exasperated, pushing herself away from him and squaring her shoulders as if to prove to him that she was not on the verge of collapse.

_Tough lass._

“How the hell did this happen?” Graham roared, shoving Killian in his anger. “I thought your men were supposed to be guarding her window.”

“They were,” he answered back. “They thought an order had been given for them to be relieved by your men. I assure you, it will be dealt with,” he promised darkly, already envisioning the methods by which he planned to carry out that promise.

“Oh, well that’s reassuring,” Graham spat sarcastically. “You’ll _deal_ with the fact that your men can’t seem to follow a simple order.”

“And what of your men, hm?” Killian countered angrily.

“What of them?”

“Perhaps you should ask them how the hell these bastards even got onto the castle grounds seeing as how it is your men that are suppose to be keeping watch right now!” His temper flared as he advanced on Graham and gave him a hard shove of his own.

“ENOUGH!” Emma shouted, drawing the attention of both men. “You can either stand there and continue blaming one another, or you can help me figure out how they gained access and see to it that it doesn’t happen again! Now which is it?” She didn’t wait for their answer, instead she marched right past them both, grabbed her cloaked, and exited her room, hollering for one of her soldiers to follow.

* * *

 

He had failed.

Killian stood in the war room hours later reviewing the plans they would most assuredly need come dawn. A thorough search of the grounds had revealed nothing of the methods by which Baelfire’s men had gain entrance, and now they faced a bigger problem.

Once his men failed to check in, Killian knew that would be all the proof Baelfire needed that Lady Emma was, indeed, still on the premises.

He’d reasoned with Robin and Graham that their mission had most likely been meant as one of stealth. Get in, find out if Lady Emma was still on the grounds, take her if they could manage it without being seen, or return and report back so he could formulate a new plan. Not returning would mean they’d had to engage, and they’d only engage if they were attempting to abduct her, otherwise they could have simply laid low and gathered information to take back. It seemed Killian’s ruse had not been as persuasive as he’d hoped.

Baelfire having a reasonable supposition that Lady Emma was there for the taking meant they could expect an attack not long after dawn, which, Killian assumed, would be when Baelfire would expect his men to report back.

So, now they were not only facing the attack Killian was certain he had averted, but Baelfire would be laying siege with the upper hand. He obviously knew a way around their defenses, otherwise he wouldn’t have sent his men in the first place.

_You never break in somewhere unless you know the way out._ How many times had Bae said that to him in their youth?

Killian cursed himself for his arrogance. This was all his fault. He’d allowed Baelfire’s lack of action to lull him into a false sense of security. He should have been more diligent. He should have anticipated this level of treachery. He should have placed triple the amount of guards around Lady Emma’s rooms and seen to their orders himself.

He should flay every inch of skin off the idiot men who were tasked with her protection in the first place.

Killian had Robin detain the men who had failed to heed the proper chain of command to a dungeon cell for the night, knowing he could not trust himself with their punishment just now.

He’d always prided himself on being fair with his discipline and punishments, but right now he didn’t want to be fair. Right now he wanted to inflict all manner of torture on them for almost allowing his Swan to be taken from him.

He’d almost lost her.

A truth that nearly made his knees buckle as he replayed those terrible moments over in his mind. What if he had not noticed the guards’ absence? What if he’d been unable to get through her door? What if he and Graham had not reached her in time before she fell over the windowsill?

And the revisited image of Emma in Graham’s arms had Killian seeing red all over again.

With a growl of rage, Killian swept the maps and surveys from the table, and pounded his fists on its surface. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew Robin would be waiting to stop him from such impulses, Killian would march right out those gates and run Baelfire through for his treachery - alliance be damned. Of course, that was not a viable option, a satisfying one perhaps, but it would only make matters worse for everyone in the end.

A sudden wave of exhaustion from this long night hit him and he braced his hands against the table as he hunched over, his head falling forward in weariness. How would he ever be able to make his case to Arthur now? He’d failed to secure the castle, had failed to protect Lady Emma from harm, and was now facing a battle he wasn’t sure he could win.

And if he did win, if he managed to hold on to his Swan and keep her from being captured by Baelfire, would he only be keeping her safe so some other man could lay claim to her? Would Arthur still look favorably upon his petition knowing how close Killian came to losing it all: the lands, the holdings, the king’s prize? Did Killian even deserve the king’s consideration?

Lost in his thoughts he did not hear the door open, nor was he aware of the other person’s presence until he heard his name, softly spoken from her lips. For a moment, with his head still hung and eyes shut tight, he thought he had imagined it. She had not called him ‘Sir Killian’, as was her custom, but had invoked his given name.

Killian.

Just, Killian.

And the sweet intimacy of such a gesture swept over him like a soothing balm for the torment that the night’s events and his own musings had caused him.

“Killian?” she called again, and he slowly raised his head to verify that she was, indeed, real and not a figment of his tormented imagination.

She was a vision. Still in her night dress with her hair free of any pins or ribbons, she stood in the low light of the solitary lantern and framed by the moonlight. Killian almost dared not respond for fear she would vanish, proving that she was truly a heavenly apparition not meant for this realm. Not meant for him.

But as wary as he was to break whatever spell had led her to him in his time of need, he couldn’t escape the look of anguish that beset her own expression. Where, earlier, this tough lass had commanded both his and her men as they’d searched for evidence of her attackers’ entry, and had weighed in on their defensive plan without so much as batting an eye at the knowledge that Baelfire would most assuredly come for her, she now stood before him exposed in her vulnerability.

“Swan? Are you alright?” he whispered.

“I...uh, I couldn’t sleep,” she answered, her voice shaky with threatening emotions that she could no longer tamp down. “Everytime I close my eyes I…,” but she couldn’t continue.

He could not say which of them moved first, but halfway across the room they found one another. Emma threw her arms around his neck as she gave over to her tears, sobbing into the space where his chest met his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Killian pulled her close as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, and breathed in past the notes of lavender to the true essence of his Swan, allowing it to still his rage and madness.

He murmured a mixture of comfort and apology into her skin as he stroked her hair while she continued to exhaust her anguish at the front of his tunic. Thoughts of how naturally she fit against him swirled through his mind as it catalogued the silkiness of her hair between his fingers, the strength he felt in the arms around his neck, and the softness of her curves revealed by the thin fabric of her night dress as her body pressed flush against his own.

After several long moments her tears quieted, but neither moved to disengage from the other. Eventually she lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him. Green eyes transfixed by blue, (or was it the other way round?) as they quietly gazed at one another and let their souls impart all that they wished to say to one another through the aperture.

Perhaps it was the way her eyes flitted back and forth between his own, or the worry she beset upon her bottom lip, or the way her gaze was drawn to his own as he swept his tongue along his mouth. Whatever the reason, Killian could deny that final sense, the satisfaction it craved, no longer as he captured her mouth, and finally tasted the delicacy of her lips.

She stiffened against him momentarily but then softened, molding herself into his embrace once more. His hand sank into her hair and lightly tugged, repositioning her head so that he might have better access as he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. She tasted of sunshine and nectar, a heady combination mixed with the softness of her lips and slick heat of her tongue. Though initially hesitant, she soon matched his fervor with each swipe of her own tongue and each nip of their lips.

Her tentative actions with each new response testified to her inexperience which further fanned the flames of his passions as he considered the possibility that he may be the only man to ever drink from her lips. He moved his mouth to the pulse point along her slender neck, a moan escaped her causing a groan of his own to release from deep in his throat as his hips pressed against hers with their natural instinct to seek desperate purchase.

The urging of his arousal caused her to gasp and pull away. Her breath ragged with pupils blown wide and lips swollen red from his attentions; she looked every bit the victim of the ravishment he was so very tempted bring upon her. But the uncertainty in her eyes reminded him that he was a man of honor, a noble knight, and not some pirate hell bent to pillage and plunder.

Pressing his forehead to her own he sought to calm his breathing and her nerves. He would seek nothing more from her, couldn’t seek any more from her, for she was still the king’s prize, and he had teetered close enough to the line of treason after a night he already had much to atone for.

“We should get you back to bed, Swan,” he said, sounding every bit as wrecked as he felt.

She merely nodded and allowed him to escort her back to her chambers. A new guard was waiting outside her door for her return.

While they were still far enough away that the guard could not overhear, she turned to him and asked, “Would you...would you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep? I’ll feel safer knowing you’re there,” she confessed.

Killian knew he couldn’t enter her bedchamber. He might be an honorable man, but he was still just a man. His want for her was still strumming through his veins, and as innocent as she may have intended for his presence to be while they would wait for her to fall asleep, he knew there would be nothing to keep him from her bed if he entered her room.

He ordered the guard to have a cot brought and set up outside her door. He may not trust himself to remain in the intimacy of her presence, but that didn’t mean he would deny her the security she needed.

“You get some sleep, Swan,” he encouraged. “I’ll be right out here.”

She nodded and opened her door, only to turn back to him and quickly graze his lips with her own one last time before closing the door behind her. Killian pressed his fingers to his still tingling lips and then blew out a shaky breath.

The guard delivered his cot and Killian dismissed him as he took position to guard over his Swan while attempting a few hours of sleep before dawn, and the impending attack. He renewed his vow to protect Lady Emma with his very life if necessary and dreamt of sunshine and lavender in swirls of golden tresses and soft lips.

Sometime before dawn Robin urgently shook him awake.

“Robin? What is it?” Killian asked, trying to pull his mind from the fog of sleep, “Is it Baelfire? Has he begun to assemble his men for attack?”

Killian was on his feet in an instant, heading towards his own chambers to don his armor, not waiting for his knight’s answer, when Robin grabbed hold of his arm.

“No, Sire,” Robin replied. “It’s his lordship. You brother has just returned.”

“Liam’s back?” Killian exclaimed, relieved that his brother had arrived in time to stay Baelfire’s invasion.

“Aye, and he did not return alone,” Robin informed him.

“Who has accompanied him?” Killian questioned.

“The king, Killian,” Robin replied. “His Majesty is here, and he seeks an audience with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to wait for their kiss, but @kmomof4 on Tumblr convinced me that it was probably time. I hope it met expectations! Only a couple of chapters left, and the next one might be rather lengthy. I have a new fic that I plan to start uploading this weekend, so I'm working to wrap this one up so those of you who wish to follow the next one can do so without the two competing with one another too much.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated and keep the muse fed. Also, if your on Tumblr you can find me there - @hollyethecurious and give the fic a like and reblog as well ;o)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Arthur has arrived, and has assembled all his nobles and allies for a very important announcement. How will it change the course of Killian's and Emma's lives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @juliakaze on Tumblr created an amazing piece of artwork to accompany this fic. Pop on over there and have a looksy ;o)

**Chapter 7**

Killian entered the Great Hall to find both his brother and his king awaiting his arrival. He had taken a few moments after Robin’s announcement to change into a fresh tunic and make himself more presentable, while also gathering his wits about him to face the report Arthur was sure to require from him.

“Ah, Killian. There you are,” Arthur greeted enthusiastically.

“Your Majesty,” Killian responded with a customary bow to his sovereign.

“One of these days, Killian, I am going to get you to refer to me as Arthur again,” the king admonished teasingly. “Come, sit, and tell me about this mess with Baelfire?”

The king’s words made Killian wince even though he knew they were meant in jest. It _had_ become a mess, but thankfully, with the king’s arrival, the worst of the possible outcomes had not come to pass.

Killian sat with Liam and Arthur and gave his full account of things regarding the safekeeping of the castle, beginning with the accord he had struck with Lady Emma. He made no mention of the initial tensions and attempted betrayal of Sir Graham, but instead offered the man his due for the part he played in assisting with the security of the castle grounds. He saved his highest praise for Lady Emma, telling the men of her keen mind for military matters, and for Sir August, for the role he played during the tricky summit with Baelfire, as well as the care he had provided for all the wounded.

Although Killian spent much of the report highlighting the successes of the previous week, he did not shy away from acknowledging the attempted abduction from the night before. He gave a full and honest account of the incident itself and the subsequent investigation, but made no mention of the aftermath that had led to his shared moment with Lady Emma; a moment that still lived within his skin as his body recalled the sensation of his Swan pressed against him.

Liam was the first to make comment on his report, pulling Killian back from thoughts of lavender, silk, and sunshine.

“Yes, the bastard is already disavowing any knowledge of the attempt,” Liam informed. “Claims those men were acting on their own accord.” Liam’s expression spoke of his belief that the lord was lying through his teeth, which, of course, they all knew to be true.

“Are any of us at all surprised?” Arthur commented, knowing well the games Lord Baelfire played, but doing little to alleviate the guilt Killian felt over not having anticipated such a response from the treacherous man.

“I should have been more diligent, Your Majesty, I-”

“Stop that, Killian,” Arthur admonished. “You’ve done a fine job, and not just here. Your instincts about the approach to be used on Lord Jefferson’s lands were spot on, not to mention your initial campaign against George’s own castle. This campaign is just another in a long line of your successes, and don’t think for a moment that I am not grateful to you. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Nor could I,” Liam agreed, giving his brother a hearty slap on the back.

Killian could not fully accept their praise and waved off their words with discomfort. It was all well and good for them to say such things now, but he would not soon forget the cold dread he’d felt over almost losing his Swan because of his negligence.

“Now tell me,” Arthur continued. “How have you gotten on with the Lady Emma? Your brother tells me she’s quite the handful.” Arthur grinned, having obviously heard of the altercation between his lord and his prize in the chapel that first day.

“Admittedly, Liam and Lady Emma got off on the wrong foot,” Killian began

“The wrong foot?” Arthur interrupted. “I heard tell it was a slap in the face.”

“Well, have you ever known a woman who didn’t wish to strike my brother after spending a few moments in his presence? His betrothed included?” Killian teased. His comment caused Arthur to laugh, while eliciting an offended _hey_! from his brother.

“Lady Emma is a fierce one to be sure,” Killian began again after their laughter had died down, “but it all stems from the love and loyalty she has for her people. I think you’ll find her to be quite extraordinary,” he continued, unaware of the affection of her esteem that was seeping into his estimation. “She has a mind and wit that rival her beauty, and her instincts are unmatched by most strategists I’ve known… save me, of course,” and he gave the men a boastful wink that earned him another round of chuckles.

“Indeed?” Arthur responded, a knowing smirk at his lips in the face of Killian’s obvious infatuation.

“Aye,” Killian replied, oblivious to his king’s and brother’s observations. “She’ll likely seek an audience, Your Majesty, and when she does, take my advice. Do not underestimate her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur said, as he assessed his knight with a critical eye before continuing on with his inquiry. “Tell me, what else have you ascertained about the castle and grounds.”

Killian shared all the knowledge he had gleaned of the lands and the castle itself - including the hidden panel within the wall of the Great Hall - and after his report had ended, and the men had finished their examination of the secret doorway, Arthur started to dismiss the brothers.

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” Killian appealed before Arthur could dismiss him fully. “There is another matter I wish to discuss, or rather, a petition I seek to present.” Killian straightened himself into a more formal posture as he awaited his king’s approval to continue.

“Would this petition have anything to do with the extraordinary, beautiful, not to be underestimated Lady Emma?” Arthur teased knowingly.

“It would,” Killian replied in all seriousness, despite the blush working its way up his ears.

“You know,” Arthur informed, “you are not the only man to present such a petition in regards to Lady Emma.”

“I didn’t imagine I would be, Your Majesty,” Killian replied.

“Well, I am not ready to entertain requests on that measure just yet,” Arthur admitted, “but rest assured Killian, all those wishing to cast their lot in for my favor as it pertains to your… _Swan_ ,” Killian swallowed at the pointed look his king gave him (he should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep that endearment private), “will be allowed to do so before any decision is made.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Killian acknowledged, and then followed Liam from the Great Hall at the king’s leave.

Not ready to face his older brother’s scrutiny regarding Lady Emma, Killian tried to avoid Liam immediately after their meeting with Arthur. The eldest Jones found him not long after as he sparred with Robin in the training gallery.

“Will you excuse us, please, Sir Robin,” Liam requested as he entered the gallery.

Robin bowed to both his Lord and his Captain before exiting, and Killian let out a long suffering sigh for the expected lecture that was surely forthcoming.

“You’re playing with fire, little brother,” Liam warned.

“It’s a sword, actually, and I think you mean younger brother,” Killian quipped as he sheathed his weapon. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the chafing familial handle his brother always set to bestow upon him.

“What I _mean_ is this petition for Lady Emma’s hand after you’ve already gone and fallen in love with her,” Liam accused, not bothering to keep his volume down.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Killian shrugged, feigning ignorance at his brother’s accusation.

“Oh, don’t try and deny it,” Liam countered. “A blind man could see it. You’re in love with her, admit it.”

“Alright, fine,” Killian confessed. “I do love her,”

He’d known it for some time, probably since that day in the garden, but he had not been willing to admit it to himself. Denial was the final wall of protection around his heart in case Arthur’s decision did not go in his favor. Now, however, with Arthur’s praise still ringing in his eyes, he would proudly proclaim it. He loved his Swan and he declared it to his brother again as he added, “And I plan to fight for her by making my petition to Arthur.”

“And what will you do if he refuses?” Liam asked softly, worry edging his voice as he considered the state of his brother’s emotions.

“You heard him in the hall just now, Liam,” Killian contended, letting his hope rise as he recounted the king’s words from earlier. “He feels he owes much of his victory to me. I’m Captain of his Guard, a titled knight, a loyal subject, and I’ve already established an authority among these people. Why wouldn’t he bestow his favor on a man he just admitted being grateful to?

“Oh, Killian. Please tell me you are not so naive as to think it would be that simple,” Liam consoled. “Yes. You may be the most logical candidate, you make an excellent case, and I can not think of anyone more deserving, but his decisions will not be based on any of that.”

Liam’s revelation hit Killian as though he’d been punched in the gut. Was this Liam’s way of urging restraint over Killian’s escalating emotions, or was there actually truth to his assertion?

“Then what the bloody hell will it be based on?”

“Strategy, little brother. You above all else should know that it always comes down to strategy,” Liam answered sagely. “He’ll have allies, like Baelfire throwing in their lot, and refusing them could mean a weakening to treaties. There are various nobles that will take offense if not selected, powerful and wealthy lords he must continue to cater to until he produces an heir, lest they conspire to overthrow him. It is a political mess, Killian, and I’m afraid your heart and your desires hold no merit in the balance.”

Killian felt the confidence of his hope topple as he cursed himself for not considering the minefield Arthur faced with this decision. Killian had begun to feel entitled of the king’s favor, but every man who cast their lot would feel a justification for the king’s consideration. He had become so fixated on just wanting to be with the woman he loved, that Killian neglected to remember the draw her lands, titles, and holdings would bring, and the frenzy such wealth would cause in others.

Liam was correct. The decision would come down to politics, not declarations of the heart. It would be about minimizing skirmishes within the realm, not who was truly deserving of the honor.

As the days passed Killian became more and more discouraged as contingencies of nobles and lords and allies began to arrive and station themselves outside the castle walls. Four days after Arthur’s arrival he gave the order to open the castle gates and allow the nobles entry. He summoned them all for a grand proclamation, and as Killian surveyed the crowd that had amassed in the courtyard he wondered who among them he would have to witness his Swan being given to as prize, and how his heart would ever survive it.

* * *

 

Emma had been reckless.

How had she allowed her heart to travel so far down a path of certain despair?

She was the king’s prize. A pawn in a game of political chess that was meant to unite two kingdoms. Her heart, her future, was no longer her own, and yet, she had allowed it to be courted by the dark haired, dashing knight that had been tasked as her sentinel.

It had all begun the day he had withdrawn from her after meeting with Lord Baelfire.

No.

Truthfully, it had all begun that day in the chapel when he had come to her aid with both a lecherous knight and a pompous lord, but she had not been aware of his effect at the time; not until she had felt the bereavement of his absence a mere two days later.

She could hardly blame Killian for keeping to her attentions afterward as she all but confessed her need to have him near to her, and she could not make herself regret the afternoons spent in his company as she introduced him to her home. It had been easy to forget her circumstances then. Easy to pretend that he was one of her loyal men, or an allied knight come to pay call.

But he wasn’t.

He was a subject of the conquering king, the Captain of his Guard, and not a man she should be yielding her heart to piece by piece. Not a man she should engage in spirited conversation with, or continually swoon over with each lilting chuckle, raised brow, and sly smirk. And she most certainly should not be allowing such liberties as holding her hand, embracing her closely, or stealing her breath with a kiss.

But, oh, what a kiss.

The effects of which she could still feel lingering against her lips and deep in her belly nearly four days later. She became almost delirious at the mere memory of it, and chided herself for getting caught up all over again in the wash of desire she’d tried to quell for days now.

For it had been days. Four days to be exact. Four days since the news that not only had Lord Jones returned, but that His Majesty King Arthur himself had arrived to handle the looming presence of Baelfire, and check in with his Captain while assessing the spoils of his campaign. Four days since the order for her to remain in her rooms had been delivered by Sir Robin at the king’s command.

Four days since she had seen Sir Killian Jones.

She did not want to admit how terribly she longed for him.

Sequestered as she was, Emma was still receiving information as to the goings-on inside her castle, her only outlet being her lady’s maid, Ruby. Unknown guards were now stationed outside her window and chamber doors, making her feel more imprisoned than protected. Ruby had informed her that over the past few days others, (lords and nobles, allies and their knights) had started to arrive at the castle and the grounds were being converted to host some sort of event.

Emma had no misconceptions as to why so many had congregated, nor what the grand event might be: her wedding.

Though she had yet to receive an audience with the king, she knew his intent had not likely changed from what Killian had presented to her in the gardens more than a week prior. The new arrivals were likely there to petition for their king’s favor, and his answer would be sealed with her marriage ceremony, evidenced by all before they departed again.

Despair threatened her once more, but she fought against it as she focused on that which she could control, and went over her plan again in her mind. She’d sent her request for audience the moment she had been informed of the king’s arrival, and though no word had come as of yet, she held out hope that he would wish to meet with her before he came to any decisions.

She was rather relieved that the king was taking so long, as it had allowed her to refocus her priorities as well as her heart, which was proving stubborn. The delay had also given her ample time to consider that which was most important to her, getting back to her parents.

She would petition for the lives of her knights, for the pardon of her parents, and the opportunity to send word to them, all as Killian had suggested to her. What Killian was not aware of was that she had discussed the plan with Graham and August after that initial conversation as well, and they had added their own advice for her consideration.

Both knights had agreed to renounce their loyalties and swear fealty to Arthur if given the opportunity, and would work to bide their time and arrange for her escape from the kingdom after she was wed. Whoever the king planned to establish as her husband would not have the knowledge of the castle and lands as they did, nor would they have her knights’ true loyalty. Graham and August would always be loyal to her, and would do everything in their power to reunite her with her parents.

The plan had been set, and as much as it made her skin crawl to consider that in order for the plan to work she’d have to endure a wedding, and a wedding night, with some man who’d be little more than a stranger to her, she was willing to endure whatever she must in order achieve her objective.

But then her heart had begun to betray her during quiet passages of time with the knight who continued to surprise and entice her, and in moments of fancy, Emma considered the possibility that King Arthur might just select Sir Killian to bestow his favor upon.

She knew not what business Killian had been speaking of when he’d made mention of traveling to see the king, but a part of her had hoped that it might concern his intentions towards her. If their shared moment that night after her attempted abduction had exposed anything to Emma, it was that Killian Jones wanted her, and that she wanted him, too.

Which was a monumental problem.

Her plan hinged on her ability to escape without her husband suspecting disloyalty from her knights or herself. She could never hope to fool Killian, he knew her too well, and not just her, but the castle, the grounds, and her own men as well, but that was not the only concern. When the time came to make her escape she would have to be prepared to leave everything behind, and Emma feared that when the moment arrived she’d be unable to leave Killian.

_Damn her heart!_

She could not allow anything to deter her from her plan, and besides, what were the odds that the king would bestow his favor on the one man she might actually be willing to swear a marriage oath to? She was better off preparing herself for the very real possibility that his favor would go to someone she found abhorrent, and channel all her anxieties into how she could still protect those she loved and cared for, and how she could ultimately be reunited with her parents.

No matter how much her heart protested her as a fool.

As the remains of her noonday meal were collected, a young man arrived with the summons she had been anticipating. The king was granting her audience.

With Ruby’s assistance, Emma made herself presentable for the king, and was then escorted to the Great Hall where she would get her first glimpse of the man who a mere month ago had overturned her entire existence and now held dominion over her agency.

He was not what she’d been expecting.

Knowing the he had been a knight-in-training with Killian, his youth shouldn’t have surprised her, but she admitted now that she had expected someone older. He had a kind and jovial air about him which was making it hard to hate him at the off, but Emma endeavored to do so anyway. The fact that he had taken residency over her father’s seat was helping a bit.

Her mother’s seat was also occupied. A striking woman, who must have been Arthur’s wife, sat poised at the king’s side, a pleasant and slightly sympathetic smile adorning her face.

Emma gave them the courtesy of her deference as she presented herself before them, and tamped down the nerves that were furiously churning within her gut. She wished that she had Killian there to stand with her, but then berated herself for longing for his security.

_The only one who saves me, is me,_ she thought to herself, and squared her shoulders as she awaited the king’s scrutiny.

“Lady Emma, it is indeed a pleasure to finally meet you,” the king greeted. “I must say that the stories of your beauty do not do you justice.”

His smile was warm and sincere, his words held no false edge of flattery, and if circumstances were different she could find herself being relieved that he would now be sovereign over Misthaven. She had never held any love or loyalty for King George, the man’s ruthlessness had caused much suffering. Suffering that had spurred Arthur to mount an attack when the time presented itself in order to safeguard his own lands and people.

Emma felt sure that Killian’s assessment of his sovereign was true. From Ruby’s accounts, and the fact that her knights and subjects were still being treated well, King Arthur seemed an honorable man. But Killian had also called his king shrewd, and Emma could not forget that as much as he might be a better king for Misthaven than George had been, he was still a political figure who would use all the resources afforded to him to secure his power, and right now, Emma was just another resource.

“That is most kind of Your Majesty to say, but there is no need to waste time with such pleasantries. I know you have many matters to attend to.”

Arthur’s lips quirked a bit, and his wife gave him a side glancing smile as if they were enjoying some sort of private joke between them at her words. The woman leaned in to whisper something into her husband’s ear and then stood, gave Emma a small nod, and departed from the hall.

“Very well, Lady Emma,” Arthur replied. “You requested an audience with me, and I am ready to hear your petition.”

Emma swallowed and took a deep breath. This was the moment she had been rehearsing in her mind over and over again, and she only had one chance to get it right. Not just for her sake, but all those she held dear.

“First, I would like to congratulate Your Majesty on your victory,” she offered graciously. “Though, I understand that there are still pockets of unrest, and in order for your campaign to truly be a success you will need the citizens of Misthaven to fully recognize you as their new sovereign. Is that correct?”

“Aye, and that has more or less occurred already,” Arthur replied pleasantly.

“More or less?” Emma questioned, smiling innocently as she proceeded. “Your Majesty, there is no need to be coy with me. I am well aware that you seek to settle any lingering unrest by uniting me in marriage with one of your loyal subjects in order to give the illusion of peace and harmony between our kingdoms.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he assessed her, while he maintained an open and friendly posture. It did not appear that her words had offended him in any way (thank goodness), but they had clearly given him pause.

“Very astute of you, Lady Emma,” he acknowledged. “So, am I to presume that you wish to somehow barter for an exemption from such a fate?”

“On the contrary, Your Majesty. I am here to offer my full cooperation on the matter,” she informed, giving him every indication of her obliging nature before adding, “pending a few indulgences on your part.”

Arthur chuckled, and his friendly smile transformed into a wide grin as he shook his head and commented, “Killian warned me to not underestimate you. It seems my Captain of the Guard was right, per usual.”

Emma couldn’t stop the blush that swept across her cheeks at the mention that Killian had complimented her to his king (for she very much considered it a compliment), and she got lost in thought for a moment as she wondered what other things he might have told the king about her. Arthur cleared his throat to regain her attention, and by the smirk on his face it seemed that neither her blush not her musings had escaped his notice.

“Very well, Lady Emma. I shall hear these indulgences.”

“First, I ask that Your Majesty would accept the fealty of any of my knights and soldiers willing to renounce their former loyalties and swear a new oath to you. They are good men, and I wish for them to have a choice of a future,” she paused as she waited for Arthur’s consideration, but he merely gestured for her to continue. “I know not what your plan might be in regards to my parents, but I ask that you offer them pardon provided they remain in exile, and that you might permit me to send them news of my well-being, delivered by one of my servants.”

“One of _your_ servants?” he clarified. “You would not trust your missive with one of my own messengers?”

His tone remained light, but Emma could hear the implications. It was a test, or perhaps a trap. If she insisted on her own servant, it would mean that she did not trust him, and trust would be required on both their parts in order to reach an accord. However, the fact remained that she did not trust him. Sending his messenger would mean divulging their location, and even if he promised to offer them pardon, knowing where to find them was still too risky for their safe keeping.

“Of course I would, Your Majesty,” she replied sweetly. “However, it is not about my trust, but my parents’. I wish to ease their minds, and they are more likely to believe a message that was delivered by a trusted friend than an agent of the conquering king.”

Arthur gave her another amused smirked, and stroked the stubble at his chin as he contemplated her requests. His eyes narrowed again as if he was remembering something previously overlooked and leaned forward in his (her father’s) seat.

“Lady Emma, you sent a request for an audience with me before your lands were attacked, did you not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Were these the requests you’d planned to make at that time?”

“N-no, Your Majesty,” she answered hesitantly, unsure as to why it mattered.

“What did you plan to petition for prior to the conquering of your lands by Lord Jones?” he asked curiously.

“I had planned to offer relinquishment all of my family’s lands, holdings, and titles in exchange for safe passage out of Misthaven to join my parents in exile,” she confessed.

“And why are you not negotiating for that now?” Arthur inquired with furrowed brows.

“Because, Your Majesty, I was reminded that you do not require me to relinquish anything to you, and I am of greater value to you and the kingdom as a unifying figurehead than an exiled noble,” she stated frankly.

Arthur’s eyes practically sparkled with mirth at her answer, and he inquired, “Just who was it that reminded you of that?”

“Sir Killian Jones, Your Majesty.” Emma couldn’t help but worry her lip at the admission.

“I see,” he responded with increasing interest. “And was it he who suggested that you negotiate for the well-being of your knights and family in exchange for your cooperation in marrying a man of my choosing?”

“Yes,” she replied, and a twinge of fear ran through her at the realization that she may have betrayed Killian somehow. Would the king be angry that his Captain had assisted her in formulating a plan of negotiation? “Your Majesty, I believe Sir Killian only meant to assist me so that a beneficial outcome might present itself for both you and-”

“Oh, no, Lady Emma. Please, do not misunderstand,” Arthur reassured, having obviously heard the distress in her voice. “I am not calling Sir Killian’s loyalty into question. As you said, he has acted in both our interests in this matter. I know well where his loyalties lie. He is a fine knight, wouldn’t you agree?” He raised a brow in a fashion similar to Killian’s when he wished to ferret out a bit more information than he thought one might be willing to give.

“I would, Your Majesty,” she responded. “Sir Killian has acted most honorably with my knights and my people.”

“And with you as well, I imagine,” Arthur quipped, sending another blush up her neck as she considered the various moments she had spent in Killian’s presence and his regard toward her, none of which she would classify as dishonorable, but not all of them proper either.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she answered, her blush still prominently displayed. “That goes without saying.”

“And yet, I find that I would like to hear you say it, Lady Emma,” the king pressed, his amused smirk still in place.

“Say what, Your Majesty?” Emma replied in confusion.

“Your feelings regarding my Captain of the Guard.”

Emma felt her mouth go dry at the question. Her feelings regarding Killian? She could barely admit them to herself, much less to the king. Besides, what if this was another trap? Perhaps he _was_ calling Killian’s loyalty into question, and would be furious to know that not only had his Captain advised her on how to negotiate with him, but that he had practically paid court to her to the point of them sharing a kiss. Would Arthur see his actions as treasonous?

“I... I’m not sure what Your Majesty wishes for me to say,” she replied weakly, and began to wring her hands behind her back in nervous anticipation.

Arthur gave her a discerning look before placing another warm smile at his lips, and responded, “Nevermind then, Lady Emma.” He leaned back again into his seat as he decreed, “I agree to your requests. Your knights shall be given leave to renounce their former loyalties and swear fealty to me, I shall extend pardon to both your parents while they remain in exile, and I will allow you to send a message to them via any delivery of your choice, _after_ you are wed. Do we have an accord?”

Emma’s heart nearly leapt from her chest at his approval. She’d done it. The first part of her plan was in place, and it took her an extended moment to get over that stunning realization before she could respond in agreement.

“Excellent,” Arthur replied. “Well then, Lady Emma. If you’d be so kind as to accompany me out towards the front steps, I think it’s time for my nobles to meet you, and for you to get a glimpse of your future husband.”

Arthur stood and offered his arm to her, and Emma could feel the blood drain from her complexion. _Now! He was announcing his decision now?_ Emma barely had a moment to register their movement before she found herself at the main doors with an order from Arthur to remain there until he’d announced her.

Her entire body trembled with fear, but she refused to give any of the awaiting men the satisfaction of seeing her in distress. Focusing on her breathing, she willed her heart to return to a more natural rhythm.

_“Our campaign against the tyrant, King George, has been victorious!”_

Emma could hear the cheers from the crowd assembled in the courtyard as Arthur gave his address on the front steps, and she continued to calm her breathing as she attempted to regain her composure.

_“And, as they say, to the victors go the spoils!”_

More cheers sounded, and Emma balled her fists at the response; the indignity of being seen as some prize causing her ire to stir once more.

_“And now, allow me to present the greatest treasure of this land’s spoils - the daughter of the Duke of Shepherd and granddaughter of Misthaven’s former king, the Lady Emma!”_

With one last deep breath Emma squared her shoulders and held her head high as she presented herself before the throng amidst the appreciative, and some lascivious murmurs and gestures. She fixed her gaze at the castle gate that lay beyond the horde of men and willed her expression into one of serene neutrality.

“Gentlemen!” Arthur shouted, calling for their attention once again. “My lords, nobles, allies, and knights. It was my intention when I summoned you all here to bestow the hand of Lady Emma, as well as all her family lands and titles, to one of you, my loyal subjects. But having now spent time in Lady Emma’s presence I can assure you that her value runs much beyond her fair beauty and riches.”

Emma flushed at the king’s compliment, and she began scanning the crowd hoping to find the friendly face of one her knights, or perhaps the cerulean gaze of one particular knight.

“I have found her to be a strong and fierce woman,” Arthur praised. “One that does not back down from a challenge, but will go toe-to-toe with any man, be him a knight, a lord, or even a king on behalf of her people. And I believe that such a woman deserves a husband of no less valor and honor. A husband… that shall be chosen, not by me, but…”

Emma whipped her head to look at Arthur and saw that his attention was set upon her as well. She held her breath in the hope that perhaps she had impressed the king enough for him to allow her back her choice, but it was not to be as she had hoped.

“...by the glory of competition!”

_What?!_ Emma thought, and by the confused murmurs within the crowd, she was not the only one who was failing to understand the king’s decree.

“In two days time we will be hosting a celebratory tournament right here on Lady Emma’s castle grounds,” Arthur explained. “The winner of the tournament shall receive, not only glory, but the hand of Lady Emma herself!”

Dumbfounded, Emma looked back out into the crowd of men, and as she assessed the myriad of reactions, she saw him. His eyes caught hers and she felt an immediate relief at his presence. Sir Robin, who was standing alongside his Captain, whispered something into Killian’s ear causing him to smile and look back at her with something that looked like hope.

“Any titled man, whether he be knight or lord, who has sworn either an oath of fealty or allegiance to me, will be eligible to compete.”

Murmurs continued from the crowd, followed by shouts of those who planned to cast in their lot. So many shouts that it began to overwhelm Emma, until an idea sparked in her mind out of the concussive fray playing out before her.

“Your Majesty,” Emma said softly, gaining the king’s attention without being overhead. “Will that extend to any of my knights who choose to swear their fealty to you before the start of the tournament?”

Arthur considered her request for a moment, looked out among the assembly gathered, and focused his attentions back to her.

“Of course, milady,” he responded, a slightly humoring smile edging his lips.

Even if they did swear a new fealty to the king, allowing knights that had held loyalty to her for so long to compete for her hand was a risk. However, Arthur must have considered that the calculated risk was in his favor. His men out numbered her’s by a significant margin, but the odds did not matter to Emma. She saw an opening for a chance to take back her fate, and she planned to claim it.

After all were dismissed, Emma was led back to her chambers. Arthur had left instructions that she’d be allowed to summon and converse with each of her knights, informing them of the arrangement she’d made with Arthur on their behalf.

Emma wasted no time and sent her first summons to one of her knights immediately upon her return.

A specific knight.

He was the youngest of her titled men, having only just received his knighthood before her uncle’s death. Swearing his fealty to the new king would not be a decision he’d make lightly, but she knew that he was hopelessly in love with young Ashley, and that, compounded with his mistress’ request, would be enough to convince him to do what Emma needed him to do.

When Sir Thomas reported to her chambers a little while later Emma set to put her plan into action.

“Thomas. I must ask you a great favor.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Killian was still feeling a bit stunned as he made his way up the steps toward the castle. The king had decided to leave Lady Emma’s fate in the hands of competition.

It was bloody brilliant.

By setting up the tournament the king could avoid any and all pitfalls a decision solely from his influence might create. No one could argue that they hadn’t been given fair consideration, or blame the king of favoritism. Lady Emma’s husband would be determined on a level playing field for all those who cast in their lot, with an uncontested victor at the end.

And Killian damn well intended to be that victor.

“Killian Jones, you duplicitous son-of-a-bitch,” Baelfire said as way of greeting, as he made his way up the castle steps behind Killian.

Killian had not seen or heard from Baelfire since their summit, and none of the congregating encampments had been granted entry into the castle grounds until the king’s order had been given to assemble them for his proclamation.

“I had no idea you were capable of such manipulative tactics as those you displayed at our summit,” Baelfire continued, his tone a mixture of amusement and menace.

“High praise coming from you, Baelfire,” Killian jeered, his brows matching his smirk in reflecting unaffected boredom with man’s taunts.

“You may have bested me once, but you and I both know how I am when I want something. And I want the Lady Emma,” Baelfire said as he took another step closer. “The question is… are you going to stand in my way?”

“I am in your way,” Killian quipped, motioning to the fact that he was currently blocking Baelfire’s entrance to the Great Hall.

“You know what I mean Killian.”

“Afraid I don’t. Care to enlighten me?” Killian challenged, raising his brows with mocked interest.

“Withdraw your lot to participate in the tournament,” Baelfire ordered, his tone growing dark.

“Why would I ever wish to do that?”

“Because you don’t belong in the field of candidates and you know it,” Baelfire sneered.

“Do I?” Killian questioned, his expression still that of indifference, though his mood darkened to match his adversary.

“Do you really think you’re deserving of the title of Duke?” Baelfire belittled. “The son, second born at that, of a scandalized and cuckolded lord? You’ve already attained a position far above your station, don’t embarrass yourself by being greedy for more. It's about time you learned your place in this world, Killian.”

Killian closed the gap between them, and held Baelfire’s gaze with the steel of his own as he replied, “I already know my place Baelfire. Its right here. Between you and Lady Emma.”

Baelfire considered Killian for a moment before stepping back. His bravado diminishing in the face of Killian’s resolve.

“Well, then I wish you luck, old friend,” he offered with an air of camaraderie that no longer existed between them. He turned to continue up the steps, but then paused as he added, “Oh, and you know how unpredictable these tournaments can be. I’d watch your back if I were you, Killian,” and gave him a dark smile.

Killian returned his smile as he responded, “I’d offer you the same caution, Baelfire, but you won’t need to watch your back.” The lord lifted his brows at that admission. “When I get my opportunity, it won’t matter if you see me coming.” Killian knocked the other man’s shoulder with his own as he proceeded up the steps, leaving Baelfire in his wake.

* * *

 

Still on edge from his confrontation with Baelfire, Killian was nursing a tankard of spirits when his brother approached his table in the dining hall later that evening and took a seat.

“Well, I had my doubts little brother, but it seems congratulations are in order,” Liam offered enthusiastically.

“Congratulations? For what?” Killian spat, his surly tone misdirecting itself onto an unsuspecting Liam.

“For currying the favor of the king with Lady Emma, of course,” Liam replied, his brows furrowed at his little brother’s temperament.

“Were we at the same assembly?” Killian sassed. “How do you figure that I won his favor when he just announced that it will be decided by a bloody tournament?”

Killian knew his brother did not deserve the treatment of his churlishness, but Baelfire’s taunts had hit a nerve. Nothing short of an order from his king would make Killian back down from fighting for his Swan, but he would be lying if he’d said he wasn’t conflicted about deserving the rest of the boon that accompanied her hand.

There had always been talk. Whispered comments that questioned the ambition of the Jones brothers. One who used his position as Ambassador to woo a foreign princess into betrothal, establishing himself as future king of an allied realm, and the other who did not back down in deference to his own king when he’d fought for knighthood and ascension to the top seat among all the realm’s titled soldiers.

Yes, there had always been talk, but because Killian and Liam Jones had the favor and affection of the king most of it had remained idle gossip among the discontented, and was rarely voiced for the service of public hearing. No one had ever actually spoken such opinions to Killian personally (probably out of fear of retribution, Killian’s temper was notorious after all), but there had never been need. Killian did well enough to question his worth all on his own, without the assistance of petty greed-mongers hurling accusations of his unsuitable provenance.

Liam, however, had always believed that they, the brothers Jones, were destined for more. Yes, he had cautioned Killian to not gamble his heart in a matter of political struggle, but now it seemed that ever present belief that something greater awaited Killian had returned, and Killian, though still dubious as to the king’s motives, (and his own deservedness) could not remain despondent in the face of his brother’s exhilaration.

“But that’s just my point!” Liam continued enthusiastically. “Why choose a tournament to settle the matter if he didn’t favor you? You’ve won the last six tournaments you’ve competed in.”

Liam had a point. Killian was Arthur’s tournament champion. Had his king really chosen a method of selection that would favor him? Perhaps, so, but still...

“There are no guaranteed victories at tournament,” Killian reminded his brother, and himself. “And besides there are a number of men I have not had the opportunity to compete against before.” Killian surveyed the dining hall, taking in those around him to assess who his true competition might be and who might still be an unknown to him.

“You mean Lady Emma’s men?” Killian shot his brother a questioning glance. “I’ve just heard word that her knights will be offered a chance to swear their fealty to Arthur, and those who do will be given leave to compete,” Liam explained.

_Grand_ , thought Killian. _That adds Sir Graham to the field of competitors, no doubt._

“I wouldn’t worry about Lady Emma’s men,” Liam assured. “King George was never much for holding tournaments. Too costly for the cheap bastard. They all lack experience.”

“Perhaps,” Killian mused. “But what they lack in experience they more than make up for in sheer will. Lady Emma’s men are extremely loyal.”

“Maybe, but none of them are Captain of His Majesty’s Guard,” his brother boasted proudly with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Listen to me, little brother. This tournament is yours to lose, and I know how you hate losing at anything.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there.

* * *

 

Approximately forty men had cast in their lot for the chance to win Lady Emma’s hand, and Killian counted himself among them, despite Baelfire’s taunts. He felt confident in his chances to come out the victor. Liam had been correct, he was no stranger to tournament victories and having the advantage of being Captain of the Guard meant he’d trained most of these men himself and knew their weaknesses.

But even though Killian already knew most of his opponents fighting styles and weaknesses, the day before the tournament provided him another opportunity to truly size up the competition as they all trained in the various events.

Each competitor spent as much time tucking away observations that might be of use to them later as much as they actually prepared themselves with armaments. Not all the competitors were as well acquainted with one another as Killian was, and the opportunity to seek out information that would work to their advantage later was as useful as training on the weapons themselves. Especially with so many unfamiliar competitors as His Majesty’s allies and Lady Emma’s men presented.

It came as no surprise to Killian that both Graham and August had entered after swearing their fealty to Arthur first, of course, but the entry of Sir Thomas had caught Killian off guard. Over the past fortnight Killian had witnessed the attraction the young knight had for the maiden Ashley, and felt sure that a betrothal was soon coming. Did he feel it his duty somehow to compete for his mistress, despite his affections for another?

The young knight had skill, Killian had to give him that. Not a large man, rather on the small side actually, but for what he lacked in size he made up for in speed and agility. Even still, Killian did not view him as one of the true contenders. Though it didn’t keep Killian from making any mental notes of weakness that he might be able to use to his advantage later.

As the day of preparation was ending, Killian received a welcomed visitor to his tournament tent. The maiden Ruby, Lady Emma’s maid, requested entrance, saying that she had a token to present to him on her lady’s behalf.

“Aye, lass. Enter,” Killian called out.

None of the would-be suitors had been permitted audience with Lady Emma since the king’s proclamation, and Killian himself had not seen his Swan since the night of her attempted abduction. The night of their kiss.

Not a day, nay, a moment it seemed, had gone by that he hadn’t thought of her, but he was prohibited from seeking out any contact with her by his king’s orders. He had hoped she would send word to him, but realized that she was probably living under a similar restriction as she sat sequestered in her rooms. Killian hated to think how she must be going mad under such constraints, but he’d taken heart at seeing her for those brief moments during the king’s assembly.

She’d appeared almost regal in her stance, and he’d been so proud of the courage she’d displayed. Robin had held tight to his forearm in order to keep him from drawing his sword on some of the more crass men around him who had appreciated his Swan a little too much with their vulgar words and gestures.

But when her eyes had met his, he’d felt everything else fall away.

_It’s just us_ , he’d thought. _Just you and me_ , he’d tried to communicate through his gaze in an effort to calm her fears.

Focused as he was on Lady Emma’s state of mind and well-being, he’d almost missed the actual announcement. It wasn’t until Robin had whispered his amazement at the prospect that Lady Emma’s hand would be decided by tournament that Killian had finally allowed his hope to soar once more.

Killian had kept himself in check since then, not wanting to get ahead of himself, but he liked his chances more and more having witnessed the practice rounds, and now Lady Emma’s maiden was here with word from his Swan. Killian allowed his hope to stretch itself for a bit before he’d have to tuck it away again for competition.

“Greetings, Sir Killian,” Ruby spoke as she entered. “Lady Emma would like to extend her best wishes to you for tomorrow’s tournament, and asked that I deliver this token to you.”

Ruby handed him a long, thin parcel wrapped in a kerchief (Lady Emma’s he presumed), and turned to exit his tent. Before she departed, however, she turned back to add, “And if it isn’t too bold of me to say, sire. I wish you all the luck as well.” Then the cheeky little lass winked at him as she vanished behind the curtain.

Killian brought the parcel up to his face with a smile and breathed in the scent that lingered upon it. Lavender. And also… that essence which belonged to Lady Emma alone. Killian allowed it to fill his lungs until he became almost light-headed at the pleasant assault. He began to unwrap the cloth to reveal the additional token that lay within, and a grin danced along his features at the contents.

A swan feather.

Killian twirled the delicate plumage between his fingers, and chuckled at the gift his Swan had bestowed upon him as his hope did much more than stretch at her gesture. With Lady Emma’s token of luck to aid him, his hope need not be contained, for how could he ever fail in the face of such favor?

* * *

 

The morning of the tournament greeted the competitors with bright sunshine and moderate temperatures, though dark clouds loomed on the horizon threatening the afternoon’s events with promises of rain.

The tournament was set to include four events: joust, staff, archery, and sword. The bottom rung of finishers after each event were eliminated, and points were assigned to those who would move to the next round. The man with the highest point total at the end would be declared the tournament winner.

The morning’s events produced few surprises in their outcomes. Sir Killian placed high in both the staff and the joust - winning the later outright and ending the former in a draw with Sir Walsh.

A deluge of promised rain had arrived during their match, making the ring too muddy to maneuver with any kind of finesse or prowess, and a draw was called so that the tournament could break and allow the weather to clear before the remaining two events could resume.

Emma, seated next to King Arthur, had watched each match of the joust and staff with an impartial countenance, but her insides had been a wreck of nerves as she watched and silently cheered for her knights to advance - especially Sir Thomas, who was crucial to her over all plan for the day.

And another knight, as well, of course - one she had bestowed her favor upon the day before despite her intentions to thwart his and all the other competitor’s chance at victory. In spite of her agenda, however, Emma could not help the continually growing desire she felt for Killian as he proved his superiority in match after match in the early events of the tournament.

Dressed from head-to-toe in custom made black armor, his dark aura practically preceded him during the parade of competitors during the opening ceremony, once again demonstrating that he was not a man to be trifled with, and filling Emma with that bit of weakness that could not fend off his allure. Emma’s heart had caught in her throat at the mere sight of him, and her treacherous mind had almost aligned itself with the infatuated strumming of her more emotional organ, causing her to rethink her plan altogether.

But as she sat there on display all morning long, the king’s prize and trophy for one of the competing knights, she renewed her resolve, and the brief but torrential rains that caused the tournament to be delayed until fresh straw could be laid out at both the archery and sword locations gave her the opening she needed to set her plan into motion.

As spectators were led away to enjoy a midday feast at the castle, and the remaining competitors took the opportunity to eat, tend to their wounds, and inspect their equipment for the final two rounds, Emma beseeched Arthur for his indulgence that she go and have a lie down, promising to return once the tournament resumed. Arthur gave her leave, and as Emma was escorted back to the castle she signaled Sir Thomas. It was time.

* * *

 

Just because the spectators had momentarily left, and the tournament was delayed, did not mean that the competition held idle for the men. For when the physical altercation of an event was not at play, it was not at all uncommon for many to engage in warfare of a more cerebral nature.

Mind games.

Every man had to find their own way of handling the taunts and jeers of the less assured opponents - for they were the ones who typically engaged in such tactics, trying to gain an upper hand by any means necessary. Most did not even bother to try such devices against Killian, his countenance and reputation were enough to make them think better of it, but they could be merciless with any they viewed to be easy pickings.

Those like Sir Thomas.

Perhaps that was why the young knight had worn his helmet all morning long? His visor always down - never showing his face. Was it an attempt to hide any weakness that might show upon his features? Killian had noticed that Sir Thomas had spent their recess in the solitude of his tournament tent, perhaps the talk was getting to the young knight after all. He’d performed well during that morning’s events, but Killian doubted he’d last past the next round.

As Killian had suspected, the main contenders were shaking out to include himself, Graham, August, Walsh, and Baelfire, with a few others that could advance if they continued to perform well. Currently, Killian was leading in the point totals, but he knew things could change quickly.

He’d been able to keep focus all morning, with only a few minor distractions, his Swan _did_ look especially fetching sitting among the spectators that morning. Whenever he’d needed a boost of confidence, or a measure of control to keep himself from throttling a fellow competitor for their bawdy comments about the Lady Emma, he’d run his fingers over the delicate edges of the swan feather to remind him of what he stood to lose if he didn’t keep his wits about him.

Wits that had served him well earlier in the day when he’d noticed how Baelfire had changed his lance grip when their match-up came, indicating that the armament had most likely been tipped, allowing Killian to compensate in his strike and use the underhanded tactic to his advantage. A tipped lance could cause substantial injury to an opponent, but it threw off a rider’s balance as well. Baelfire had been easy enough to unseat, earning Killian victory in that round, but it had not been the only example of unscrupulous methods some competitors had utilized in an effort to advance.

Fortunately, most of the unsavory knights had not been successful in those efforts and few remained among the field. With the next event - archery - being a non-combat event, the worst they’d have to prepare for and endure would be the mind games enacted through snide and deprecating comments.

Easy enough for Killian to tune out, for he had the favor of the woman he loved tucked away within his armor, and with such tokens of her esteem speaking to him with allusions of her scent and the softness of her skin, no amount of taunting would be able to throw him off his game.

As the remaining competitors made their way to the archery fields, Killian saw Lady Emma being escorted back to her seat in the stands. Her cloak was fastened tightly around her and her hood was up to protect her from the lingering chill the storm had set upon the air, leaving the braided plait of her golden tresses falling over her shoulder as her only defining attribute. He longed to gaze upon her face, but shook himself and refocused his mind for the event ahead.

Admittedly, archery was not his strongest sport, but he took comfort in the fact that those that remained had shown no greater prowess than he at the bow during their training sessions the day before. Not one to be idle in the face of competition, Killian stood back from the group and began to assess each man, determining their likely scores, and how they would all rank by the end of the round, encouraged more and more by the calculations.

During his assessment he noticed something a bit off in the gait and stance of Sir Thomas. Had the young knight injured himself in a previous round? Killian could not think of any moment during his matches were it had appeared the knight had been wounded, but there was definitely something different in the way Sir Thomas carried himself now.

Helmet still in place, and visor pulled low, Sir Thomas took aim for his first shot, and Killian was stunned to see the arrow hit true to center - a better effort than the knight had displayed thus far - making Killian wonder if it had been luck or if the young knight had been holding back in the practice rounds the day before. Four more arrows were sent to their targets by Sir Thomas during the event, each hitting the center mark with an accuracy Killian had not witnessed from anyone since…

_No…_

It _couldn’t_ be.

Killian whipped his head towards the stands and saw Lady Emma still sitting in her seat next to his king. Still bundled in her cloak with her hood pulled low over her features, but it had to be her. Someone would have noticed otherwise, surely.

Killian chuckled at himself for even considering such a thought, and finished the round with a respectable score and an advancement to the final round. Now, only that which stood in the way of him truly claiming his Swan for his own were five other men: Sir Graham, Sir August, Sir Walsh, Sir Thomas and Lord Baelfire.

The points won with the sword would decide it all.

It was during the match between Sir Walsh, who had already defeated Sir August, and Sir Thomas that Killian’s suspicions were again raised. Having defeated Sir Graham and Lord Baelfire in his own bouts, Killian studied the combatants as he waited to face off against the winner. For whoever came out as victor of this match would compete against Killian in the final match of the tournament, and with the scores as close as they were, it would most likely take a clear defeat to win the tournament overall.

As Killian observed each move, each strike, and each parry he became more and more convinced, and with the technique used to disarm Sir Walsh by Sir Thomas, Killian no longer had a doubt in his mind.

The final two competitors were afforded a rest period before reporting for their final match, and Killian sought the solitude of his tournament tent as he considered the predicament before him. The set up for the final match was not as he had planned for, and for the first time that day Killian called into question the certainty of his victory, as he was unsure if he could muster the effort needed to defeat his opponent.

As he made his way into the ring, Killian was no closer to a decisive strategy as he ran the two imposing outcomes of the match over in his mind. Winning would assure him Lady’s Emma hand, though it would be without her consent or choice, but defeat could mean losing her altogether.

In the final moment before their match began, Killian knew what he must do, and as the judge bid them start, he embedded his sword within the earth beneath him and knelt before it.

“I offer forfeit,” he declared, and a stunned wave of murmurs and exclamations moved throughout the crowd as he lifted his head to look up at his opponent and said, “The match is yours… Lady Emma.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Lady Emma's scheme, she and Sir Killian must face the consequences of the tournament result and the choices that affect their futures.

**Chapter 9**

Emma stood alongside Sir Killian in the Great Hall as they waited for King Arthur’s appearance under the watchful eye of the king’s guard.

After she had removed her helmet, and revealed her true identity in the sword ring, all hell had broken loose as Ashley had been discovered disguised in her place, and Sir Thomas had been found hidden away in his tournament tent. The king had been furious at first, and Emma, fearing for her subjects’ lives, had tried to beseech the king’s mercy to hear her out, but Killian had caught her wrist and bid her to be silent as the king raged.

After a blistering display, His Majesty shocked Emma as he finally gave over into a fit of laughter that concerned her of the possibility that he might have become unhinged. Killian had kept his hand at her wrist, lightly squeezing it while rubbing soothing circles over her pulse in an effort to reassure her, and after another few moments the king ordered that she and Killian be taken to the Great Hall, and await his consideration.

They did not speak to one another as they waited, and Emma, for the first time since she’d put her plan in motion, was realizing the risk she had asked Ashley and Thomas to take on her behalf. What would Arthur do to them? What could she do to secure their protection?

Other questions ran rampant through her mind as she wondered if her win would really gain her the leverage she sought to fully gain her freedom. Would the king even be in a frame of mind to consider her request? Would he honor his word that the tournament victor would receive his favor? Had she been completely foolish in even attempting such a desperate act?

And perhaps the most vexing question of all; the one that plagued the space around her heart like a vice and churned within her gut.

How had Killian known that it was her, and more pressing, why had he forfeited the match?

As she ruminated over her worries Arthur entered and sat himself upon her father’s seat. He seemed amused, the initial rage at her deception having fallen away, and he chuckled as he addressed his Captain.

“You warned me, Killian,” he admitted, wagging his finger toward his knight. “You said not to underestimate her, and you were correct. But in my defense,” Arthur continued, “who would have ever imagined that she would have gone to such lengths.” He shook his head with mirth once more as he trained his focus on Emma and asked, “What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with this impressive scheme, Lady Emma?”

Emma swallowed and wet her lips as she drew up her courage to answer the king, praying that his mood would remain accommodating as she spoke.

“It was my hope, Your Majesty, that if _I_ won the tournament, besting the strongest of the field, you might afford me the spirit of your word and allow me the favor of reclaiming my future freedom.”

Arthur mulled her answer over and pointed out, “But you did not compete from the beginning of the tournament.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Emma admitted. “Although I am sure I would have performed just as strongly as Sir Thomas during the early events, it was necessary that I establish a presence among the spectators in order to ward off suspicion later. I did however, best the field in the later events. I placed first with the bow and won the swor-”

“You did not win the sword outright, though, Lady Emma,” Arthur countered. “It was forfeited to you.” Arthur glanced at Killian, who had remained stoic throughout the interview.

“Even so,” Emma continued. “I was the last competitor standing, Your Majesty, which was my goal in order to earn the right of your promised favor.”

“A right you very nearly achieved, Lady Emma,” Arthur said, a note of admiration in his voice.

“Nearly?” Emma questioned, a note of accusation in her tone. “Will Your Majesty not be honoring his word, then?” Emma could almost feel Killian go rigid beside her as Arthur’s expression hardened slightly.

“Careful, Lady Emma,” Arthur warned softly. “I think I have been quite tolerant with your need to wrestle back control over your situation, but I will not have you question my honor.” Emma bowed her head in reparation as Arthur continued to speak, “I say nearly, because despite the fact that you were the last competitor standing, you were _not_ the tournament winner.”

Emma’s head snapped up at that declaration, eyes wide as she stammered, “W-what? But. The final match, I-”

“The final match was forfeited, Lady Emma,” Arthur reminded. “A win by forfeit does not carry the same point value as an outright defeat.”

“Then who…” Emma’s eyes flickered to the knight standing next to her, as his eyes met hers. Mournful eyes that nearly sucked the breath from her lungs in response to the unexpected pain filling their blue depths.

“The tournament was a draw,” Arthur announced to the pair. “The score that you and Sir Thomas posted tied Sir Killian’s. There is no definitive winner.”

Emma’s heart raced. What did that mean? Would she become Killian’s by default? It was an outcome she continued to press against, as it competed with her desire to reunite with her parents, despite how much it would satisfy her heart to have him as husband. Or had her actions nullified the entire spirit of the competition completely?

Before Emma could inquire as to what the king planned to do with her now, Arthur turned his attentions to the knight who had remained silent throughout the entire discourse.

“Were you aware of Lady Emma’s plan, Sir Killian?” Arthur questioned.

“No, your Majesty,” he replied, keeping his posture and tone formal as he answered his sovereign’s inquiry. “I began to have my suspicions during the archery round, but it wasn’t until the match with Sir Walsh that I knew Lady Emma had switched places with Sir Thomas.”

“How did you know?” Arthur asked, an intrigue that Emma shared with the king.

“I recognized her fighting style, Your Majesty,” Killian confessed. “I caught her training in the gallery one morning and studied her style over the following days.”

Emma was astounded at that admission. He’d never once let on that he knew of her proficiency in weaponry. Granted, she had told him once that she was more than capable of protecting herself in battle, but she’d never realized that he knew the full truth of that statement.

“And you did not think to make anyone aware of your suspicions?” Arthur questioned.

“I did not see the harm in allowing Lady Emma to continue in her quest.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Killian answered. “If Lady Emma was defeated in any of her matches, then she would have remained as she was at the outset - prize to the tournament winner. If she won the tournament outright, she may have earned an additional boon, but her fate would still rest within Your Majesty’s hands.”

Emma practically flinched at hearing Killian refer to her as a mere prize. Is that all he had ever seen her as? Had she only been some conquest to pursue in order to attain greater status? She had felt certain that he had developed a certain amount of affection towards her, but his attitude towards her now, as he answered his king, had her plagued with uncertainties that she, perhaps, had been wrong.

Emma’s heart twinged painfully within her chest as she contemplated the possibility that what he felt for her was no more than the affection a man might feel for a woman with whom he held a physical attraction towards, and nothing more. He certainly hadn’t shied away from exposing his willingness to bed her that day on the battlements, and she remembered quite vividly the evidence of his eagerness from the night they’d kissed when his arousal had pressed against her.

Was that truly the extent of his devotion?

“And why then did you forfeit the final match, Sir Killian?” Arthur asked, genuine curiosity lacing his words as he sat forward in his seat. “Why not fight for the prize you personally petitioned for?”

So, he had personally petitioned for her after all. Had it been his plan all along to woo her so he could use her feelings to bolster his request? She knew she’d been unable to keep her feelings hidden from the king during her audience with him. Had Killian counted on that?

But then why the tournament? And why _had_ Killian forfeited rather than fight?

“It seems very out of character, Killian,” Arthur continued, “that you would rather the choice of her fate rest with me than rightfully claiming her for yourself.”

“Because I’d rather the choice be hers, Arthur,” Killian professed firmly. His informal address, and confession, stirred surprise in both Emma and the king. Suspicion seeped into Emma’s contemplations.

“You always were the more noble one,” Arthur murmured, and Emma saw something that looked like guilt pass over the king’s eyes.

For the first time since His Majesty had entered the Great Hall a substantial weight seemed to settle about his shoulders. He stroked his beard and stared at some unknown point along the stone floor as he took a long moment to come to terms with all she and Killian had reported.

“Very well,” Arthur said finally. “Seeing as how you’ve both tied, I shall grant each of you a measure of favor,” he declared. “Lady Emma, I shall grant you a bit of your agency back. Sir Killian, the choice shall, indeed, be hers to make.”

Emma and Killian stared upon the king with furrowed brow, unsure as to the exact nature of the favor he was presenting.

“Lady Emma, you shall have your choice of husband,” Arthur decreed. “The top five tournament finishers - minus yourself and Sir Thomas, of course - shall be your pool of suitors. You will spend a day with each and at week’s end you shall name your choice.”

Emma stood in paralyzing stupefaction, unsure if she should regard this news from Arthur with gratitude or animosity. She’d hoped to bypass the stipulation of marriage altogether by winning the tournament outright, thereby allowing her to return to her parents without having to utilize deceit or treachery, protecting herself and her knights.

“Make no mistake, Lady Emma,” Arthur continued. “I may be offering you favor because I respect your tenacity, _and_ my Captain’s opinion, but I will not tolerate anymore of your antics. If you do not honor the spirit of _this_ agreement, it will not just be yourself that will face my ire, but your cohorts, Sir Thomas and young Ashley, as well. I’m willing to offer them pardon as long as you follow through on these terms.”

Arthur did not wait for her acknowledgment as he nodded to Killian and departed from the room, calling his guards to follow.

A tempest of emotion assaulted Emma. Fear for her two loyal friends that she had foolishly and selfishly put in harm’s way. Disappointment that she’d not been able to fully secure her freedom mixed with relief that there was a modicum of hope in His Majesty’s offer.

An offer of choice.

Not much of a choice - being that there were only five men for her to choose from, and two of them would never even gain entry into her consideration, leaving three viable candidates, but only one she truly wanted.

Wanted, but feared.

Not that she was afraid of _him_ , but afraid of her want for him. Afraid that her desire for him outweighed her desire to follow through with her original plan. Afraid that if she chose him, she’d be unable to leave him when the time came. But mostly, afraid that the depth of feeling she felt for him would not be returned to her in equal measure, and as much as she may be tempted to give in to her heart, how could she risk her entire future on the hope that he might come to love her one day as more than just a prize from his king.

As she pondered all this she became acutely aware of the only other presence in the room. She desperately wanted to throw herself into Killian’s arms. To share the burden of her uncertainties with him, hear the reassurances from his lips, and allow him to take some of the weight from her shoulder.

But out of those uncertainties and burdens a small root of _something_ , born of fear and the bitterness of her circumstances, took hold and bloomed within her as a voice of doubt reminded her that a king’s prize was likely all she ever was to him.

Killian turned toward her, and she could not bring herself to look into his too blue eyes. Could not allow him to address her as his Swan, and offer those sweet comforts.

Emma cursed her heart once again for putting her in this position. Cursed the whole of Camelot for seeking out her lands in the first place. Cursed George for being a terrible king, James for dying, and her own father for not fighting.

But mostly she cursed him.

Killian Jones.

For making her fall in love with him while she was only ever some trophy to be won.

“This is all _your_ fault!” Emma exclaimed, surrendering to all the uncertainty, the anger, the disappointment, the fear, and the pain she had endured for the past fortnight, and hurling it straight at the one person who could either soothe it all or make it infinitely worse - and she could not say which outcome she hoped to expect from him.

“My fault?” Killian replied incredulously. “I’m not the one who chose to defy a king and take up arms against his men! You are bloody fortunate my king is so gracious.”

“Gracious?!” she shouted. “I’m still being _forced_ to marry! If you had just fought me rather than concede then I--”

“Would be _forced_ to marry me right now, Swan,” he interrupted.

“I could have beaten you,” she spat, letting his smug statement and obvious lack of belief in her abilities fuel her ire.

“I had a chance to study your fighting technique for several days, Swan,” he reminded. “You’re good. I’m better. You would have lost.”

“Then why _did_ you concede?” Perhaps that was what truly had her on the knife’s edge. Feeling as though she hadn’t been worth the effort after all. Maybe she hadn’t been enough of a prize (and she hated herself all the more for such a thought). He’d forfeited, when he could have fought, and for some reason that fact infuriated and wounded her. “And don’t give me that rhetoric you gave Arthur. I thought you were all, _A man unwilling to fight for what he wan-_ ”

“BECAUSE WHEN I WIN YOUR HEART EMMA IT WILL NOT BE BECAUSE OF ANY TRICKERY!” Killian roared, finally revealing some measure of emotion behind the cool facade he’d worn since they’d entered the Great Hall, and leaving Emma in stunned silence at his words.

It was the first time he had ever called her by her given name. She’d always been Lady Emma or Swan, but never just Emma.

And then she began to comprehend the rest of his statement: he wanted her heart. Little did he know that he already had it, but _her_ heart wasn’t the problem.

“I want it to be because you want me, Swan,” he confessed softly. “I don’t want you forced.”

And suddenly her heart and mind joined in alliance against her doubt and fear-filled thoughts as she processed what such an admittance could mean. Where moments ago her hope had been suffocated by assumptions of his motives, she now felt it soar at the prospect that perhaps the divide between their affections was not as chasmic as she had led herself to believe.

Killian cupped her face in the palms of his hands and brought her eyes to meet his. A swirling of uncertainty warred within those blue depths, and Emma wondered if uncertainties and doubts had been plaguing him as well.

“I know it may not be the happy ending you were hoping for,” he whispered softly as he stroked her cheek, “but you have been given a choice. Granted, some of the options are a bit more appealing than others.” He gave her one of those smug smirks he used to mask his insecurity, then added “And it’s more than you had at the start of this occupation.”

Without really even knowing what she would say, Emma began to respond reassurances to him, but was silenced as Killian dragged his thumb across her lips.

“I meant what I said,” Killian declared. “You’re heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.” He closed the gap between them, placing a soft kiss at her lips. A caress that was meant to soothe, but only managed to ignite.

Emma latched onto the collar of his tunic to both ground herself and pull him closer, as she felt Killian’s hand embed itself in her hair. There was an urgency now in his kiss, as if it might be the last he’d ever expect to receive. She wanted to reassure him otherwise. Wanted to tell him that her heart already belonged to him, but words were difficult to speak when ones mouth is otherwise occupied, so she willed her lips and tongue, her moans and gasps to convey her confession.

The clearing of a throat jarred them from their intimate embrace, and Emma flushed red at the presence of her escort.

“I’m to return you to your chambers, milady,” the guard informed, and Emma struggled to reclaim her breath as she looked upon Killian, needing to impart so much to him before she went.

“It’s okay, Swan,” Killian reassured. “I’ll see you in a few days for our… rendezvous,” he teased, though his smile did not quite meet his eyes. “We’ll talk then, yeah?”

All she could do was nod as he released her, his eyes never leaving her as she approached the awaiting escort who would return her to the solitude of her room, with another of Killian’s kisses seared on her lips to keep her company.

* * *

 

Killian’s mental and emotional state felt as though they had been hurled through a centrifuge. He could barely wrap his mind and heart around all the thoughts, doubts, truths, assumptions, and feelings he had endured over the past several hours.

He had started that day confident that his Swan wanted him. She had sent him her tokens the day before, all but confessing her desire to be his, with her wishes of good fortune and favor to carry him through towards victory. The perceived hope that he would come out as tournament champion, and become her husband, had fueled his confidence and carried him through match after match.

He had but one thought driving him.

He would win it all for her - for them - for their happiness and future.

But then she had entered into the contest in disguise, and at first, he could not understand her motives. Why would she seek to claim the victory over him if she wanted to be with him?

As he’d sat there in his tournament tent, awaiting the final match, the cold, wretched truth had settled over him. It had all been a ruse. She did not want him, she wanted her freedom. Her goal had been to gain back her agency, and take control over her life again. A life that did not seem to have want of him.

He could have fought. Fought and won.

It’s what he’d done all his life - a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.

But how could he fight for what he wanted, when what he wanted was unwilling to be won?

Neither of them deserved that.

It had been easy to fight for her when he’d thought he was her choice also, but she had made it clear with her clandestine efforts that she was a woman willing to fight for what she wanted as well. And it wasn’t him.

So, he had forfeited.

She had fought for what she wanted, and she deserved to win. Her agency. Her choice. Her life and her future as she wanted it. She deserved it all, and he wanted that for her. So, he’d changed his fighting strategy from fighting against her as a tournament opponent, to fighting alongside her - championing her for her choice.

He knew his king would be angry, and he’d caught her wrist to advise patience from her while his king settled his temper.

It had been agony to hear her confirm her reasoning for her actions, and though Killian’s heart had ached in despair he had resolved to stand by her. He’d gone so far as invoking Arthur’s given name, as he had in those early days of their friendship, in order to impress upon his king the sincerity and gravity with which he spoke, as he confessed his wish that Emma be given her choice in the matter.

He had not been able to even muster any hope out of the ashes of his anguish when Arthur declared that Emma would be given freedom to choose her husband from the top five finishers, though he counted himself a member of that assembly. For if she had wanted him, why then would she have stood against him at tournament in the first place?

The remaining field might include vile men like Sir Walsh and Baelfire, but the final two rounding out her pool of suitors were Sir August and Sir Graham, and Killian had held no misconceptions that either of her two loyal knights would surely seem a more appealing option than he - a loyal subject of her conqueror.

He just didn’t understand how he could have been so wrong about her affections for him.

Or had she truly been playing him from the very beginning? Working her feminine wiles to seduce him, not bodily, but emotionally to ensure she had an ally among her enemies to manipulate.

As much as his heartache and pain wanted to believe it of her, to lash out and cast blame at her for treachery rather than on itself for folly, he couldn’t. Killian could not make himself believe that she had ever set out to wound him that way, but that hadn’t stopped his temper from flaring when she’d blamed him for the failure of her scheme, and taunted him about his reasons for forfeiting.

He couldn’t keep the truth from erupting within him as he declared that all he wanted was to win her heart without deceit, trickery, or force. He wanted her, and he wanted her to want him in return, but more than that, he wanted her to have whatever her heart desired, whatever would make her happy.

He’d only meant to seal his confession with a chaste kiss, in an effort to put the evidence of action behind his words, but he hadn’t expected the passion of her response. Nor had he prepared for the resurrection of hope that had stirred and swelled within him as she grasped onto his tunic and poured out that passion with every stroke of her tongue and pull of his lips. Of course, hope had not been the only thing to stir and swell in that moment, and he could not decide if he’d wanted to curse her escort in that interrupted moment, or be thankful that he’d arrived before Killian had lost all manner of control.

Now, attempting to quiet his mind, among other things, Killian found himself at a bit of a loss. What had the kiss meant? What had it exposed? Did he dare allow his hope to stretch once more at the possibility that perhaps his Swan cared far more for him than her actions that day suggested? Did she want him to continue to fight for her? To prove himself worthy of her love?

Killian knew that he would never stop fighting for her.

He wanted her to have a choice, and she would have it, but he would make sure she knew of his love for her before deciding. When the time came to be in her presence again, Killian would hold nothing back.

* * *

 

Emma was so thankful that August was the first _suitor_ she was to spend the day with. She desperately needed a friendly face, someone she could talk open and honestly with, and who wouldn’t shy away from giving her their honest and frank opinion. That had always been August.

He’d always been like a brother to her, and though she suspected that his involvement in the tournament had nothing to do with any romantic motivations, it didn’t stop Emma from feeling just a tad awkward at the outset of their day.

But true to form, August was quick to assess her concerns and face them head on.

“Emma,” he said as they made their way along the path towards the castle gardens. “I want you to know that the reason I entered the tournament was because if you were to be forced to marry, I wanted to try and at least give you a chance at marrying a friendly face. Ours would have been a marriage of companionship,” he went on to explain. “I would never have asked you for anything remotely resembling wifely duties, nor would I have begrudged you finding such comforts elsewhere.” He and Emma both blushed at his insinuation before he continued. “I want you to know that I would still do that for you, Emma. If at the end of all this you’d rather marry someone who wouldn’t expect things you weren’t ready or willing to give, who would still try and devise a way to reunite you with your parents, and would then agree to an annulment, which without consummation wouldn’t be too hard to achieve, I would do that for you.”

Emma could not stem the flow of tears cascading down her cheeks at her dear friend’s offer. She hadn’t the words to express to him just how much his love and brotherly devotion meant to her, so she reached out to embrace him instead as she let her gratitude wash over them both in a quiet moment of sibling affection.

After several peace-filled minutes, August released her and led her to the stone bench that overlooked the reflecting pool.

“Of course, I realize that with your other prospects my offer probably isn’t in the running.” He shot her a sly and knowing smirk.

Emma rolled her eyes and teased, “You are correct, for how could such a generous and selfless offer ever compare to the lecherous overtures of Sir Walsh or Lord Baelfire. You have little hope against the likes of those two.”

August pulled on her braid, as he use to do when they were children, and admonished, “You know very well I was not speaking of either of those… men, and I use that word under protest that it paints me with the same vile brush.”

Emma laughed and assured August that he could never be placed in the same category reserved for men such as Walsh and Baelfire. They momentarily changed course to discuss his tournament performance and other neutral topics before August landed them back at the most pressing matter she had been actively avoiding.

“So?” August inquired. “Which one will it be, then?”

“I don’t know,” Emma answered.

“Sure you do,” August stated. “It’s obvious that you love him. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just let him win your hand outright.”

Emma gave August an incredulous look at the accuracy of his observation and wondered if she was so transparent with everyone.

“How did you know?”

“Please,” August responded. “You know you can’t hide those kinds of things from me, and you didn’t answer my question.”

“I… I guess,” she started hesitantly. “I was afraid.”

“Stubborn’s more like it,” August quipped, and Emma smacked him in the arm.

“I’m serious,” she stated.

“So am I,” he countered, and before she could argue with him, he pressed on. “Emma, I have no doubt that the idea of letting someone else decide your fate scared you, but let’s be honest, you didn’t pull that stunt out of fear. You did it because you’re too stubborn to let anyone have that level of control over your life, even if that someone is who you want to give your life to. You love Sir Killian, Emma. I know you do.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I do. But what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“He does,” August answered with great confidence.

“How can you be so sure?”

“The way his countenance darkens when you aren’t with him, or the way his entire face lights up when he calls you Swan. The terror I saw in him at the prospect of losing you to Baelfire’s abduction, and the fervor with which he fought each match in the tournament,” August offered as evidence. “And no man would cherish the tokens of a lady’s favor, as he did yours, if he did not love her.”

“My tokens?” she asked, a soft tinge of pink staining her cheeks. “You know about those?”

“I recognized your kerchief, and he wouldn’t stop twirling that swan feather through his fingers every chance he got,” August teased.

Emma nipped at her bottom lip as she weighed August’s evidence and testimony of Killian’s feelings against her own.

“So, has he kissed you yet?” August questioned with inquisitive brows and a saucy smirk.

“That is none of you business,” Emma deflected, her blush returning.

“That’s a yes,” August confirmed with a laugh, but then repressed his amusement as he added, “Graham’s going to be disappointed.”

Graham.

Sweet, faithful Graham.

It tore at Emma’s heart to think how her decision would wound him, but she had never loved Graham - not the way he loved her, or the way she loved Killian.

“I know,” Emma replied sadly.

“Just try and let him down easy,” August offered. They spent the rest of their day recollecting nostalgic memories in the comfort of each other’s affection.

* * *

 

Her meetings with Sir Walsh and Lord Baelfire had been just as unpleasant as Emma had expected, though in fairness, Baelfire wasn’t quite as repulsive as Walsh, with the latter causing Emma to want to gnaw her own leg off if it meant escaping the trapped and caged feeling being in his presence gave her. But even knowing their encounters would cause untold amounts of displeasure, the prospect of their appointment had not thrown her into such a state of nerves as having to face Sir Graham.

Despite her feelings for Killian, Emma cared deeply for Graham, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but she also had to be fair to him. She didn’t want him to have any false sense of hope or expectation that her decision would be anything other than her heart’s desire, and that simply was not him.

She met Graham in one of the salons, the one with the balcony that overlooked the gardens. He greeted her with a soft kiss at her cheek, and she invited him to sit with her out in the fresh air of the terrace.

The air hung heavy between them, and Emma had difficulty mustering the courage she needed. Before she could begin the dissertation she’d rehearsed, Graham took her hand in his and began to pour out all that which Emma hoped would not be true.

“I love you, Emma,” Graham declared. “I’ve loved you for some time now, and I’d be honored for you to choose me for your husband.”

His hope and love-filled gaze caused a sweeping of cold guilt to pass through her as she opened her mouth to administer a slash she knew would cut deep within his heart, but she had no other recourse by which to soften the blow.

“Graham,” she began, and she could tell that just the tone of his name from her lips had told him all he needed to know. “It has never been my intention to hurt you, but I-”

“You do not love me,” Graham interrupted solemnly, his head falling forward with slumped shoulders as he bore the revelation.

“I’m sorry, Graham,” she said, wishing that there was more than just platitudes to offer him.

“But you do love _him_ ,” Graham stated, his voice grating over the word as if the mere letters were offensive in their representation of the man who had that which Graham desired.

“Him?” Emma feigned, not wishing to add further injury with the confirmation.

“Sir Killian,” he stated as he met her eyes, and she was certain he could see the proof of his assumption within their depths. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” he said as he turned to face her fully, his posture hardening with an urgency that became mirrored in his words. “But Emma, I urge you to really think it through. Lay aside your feelings for the moment and truly consider what marrying him would mean.”

“What do you think it will mean?” she asked warily.

“That you’ll never see your parents again.”

Emma blanched at his words. “Why would you say that?

“Think about it Emma! Your father is still seen as the rightful heir of Misthaven, even if Arthur keeps to his word, he can never allow your parents to return, it is too big a risk for him. And the whole point of you marrying one of his loyal subjects is for the citizens to see a happy and united Misthaven and Camelot. They cannot see that if you are not actually within the kingdom. Arthur would never permit you to leave and visit them, and risk you not returning. And Sir Killian, being a loyal subject to Arthur, having sworn his fealty to the man, would never betray his king, even for you,”

“But surely, if Sir Killian loves me, as I love him, then he’ll-”

“ _If_ the man loves you,” Graham interrupted. “His fealty will always be to his king, Emma. Not you. You’ll never truly come first in his considerations. I have come to know the man rather well, and I can tell you that he’ll never agree to betraying his king, and without his willingness to go behind the king’s back, you can never hope to see your parents again.”

Emma had been unsure as to whether or not Killian would assist or accompany her in her escape before she became convinced of his love for her. It was why she had been unwilling to risk becoming his wife in the first place. She could not guarantee that he would come with her, nor could she bear the thought of leaving him.

Emma now assumed that with his love, and once they were married, he would do all in his power to help her reunite with her parents, but Graham was right. Arthur could not risk her parents ever returning to Misthaven, and he was not likely to allow her to go to them. The king needed her here, standing in unification with her husband, reassuring the people that there was peace and cooperation between Camelot and Misthaven.

Perhaps, after a time, he’d let her go see them, if Killian accompanied her to ensure her return, but then Killian would certainly have to reveal their whereabouts to Arthur. Could she risk their safety that way? And, come to think of it, how would her parents respond knowing that her husband, the man she loved, would have to betray their location to his king? Emma had not considered the restriction Killian would be held to under his oath, and she also knew that Killian would never betray it.

Emma felt a wave of nausea roll over her as she came to realize that perhaps love wouldn’t be enough for them.

“I hold no true loyalty to Arthur, Emma. My fealty has only ever belonged to you,” Graham continued in earnest. “We would most certainly be watched once we are wed, but eventually I would find a way for us to leave the kingdom and reunite you with your parents as we had originally planned. All we would need is a plausible excuse to travel to another realm, and then I could plan for our escape.”

“Lord Jones’ wedding,” Emma murmured.

“What?”

It was an opportunity she had planned to broach with Killian. Emma knew that Prince Eric was also an ally of Arendelle, and would most likely be in attendance at the wedding of Liam Jones and Princess Elsa. She’d plan to ask if an arrangement could be made in secret for her parents to attend the wedding as well so that she might see them and introduce her new husband to them.

But, now...

She feared that might be too risky an endeavor. Emma did not know how the treaties between the kingdoms had been established. Would coming to Arendelle, and leaving their place of exile, negate the pardon Arthur had promised? What if Lord Jones discovered the plan and had them arrested once they were within Arendelle’s borders? She couldn’t expect Killian to keep such a plan from his own brother, she realized, and Emma began to despair at the choice before her.

Choose the man she loved, or choose the parents she longed for. It was apparent now, based on Graham’s insight, that Emma could not have both.

“Lord Jones is to be married this fall to Princess Elsa of Arendelle,” Emma explained. “Perhaps we could ask to go as a show of support for the new alliance the marriage will bring to the kingdom?” She had not meant for it to be an agreement to Graham’s proposal (merely speaking her thoughts aloud), but he grasped onto to her words and began to formulate the plan as though she had already chosen him.

“And on the way there, we could get word to Prince Eric,” Graham said. “Perhaps he could arrange to have one of his ships in port at Arendelle, and they could smuggle us aboard.”

“But, Graham,” Emma protested. “Such a betrayal to your oath would make you a fugitive of this realm. The price that Arthur would put on your head-”

“Would not matter, so long as I am with you.”

Before Emma could try and organize the assaulting chaos of her thoughts and feelings, Graham pulled her into a kiss. She did not know how to respond to the unexpected, and unwanted show of affection, so she didn’t. She sat rigidly and fought the urge to push Graham away. His kiss held nothing of the fire and intensity she had experienced from Killian’s lips, and that comparison only distressed her more as she wondered if any man would be able to stir her passions as Killian did.

Graham pulled away and assessed her with purpose set eyes. Emma knew Graham wanted what was best for her, but she could now see that interest was framed within his own selfish desires. Where August had offered a way of escape with no strings attached, Graham offered her a way back to her parents, but at a price.

“I know you don’t love me, Emma,” Graham said. “But in time, I believe you could learn to.”

Choosing Graham might reunite her with her parents, but it came with all the expectations of marriage. Expectations she only wished to experience with one man.

But could Graham be right?

Could she come to love him one day as he loved her?

Emma’s heart ached and her head pounded. She had started out this week so confident in her choice. So sure of her decision. Now she didn’t know what she wanted. A true husband or her parents? Love or fealty? Killian or Graham?

August’s proposal was starting to have real merit.

* * *

 

Killian made his way along the path that led to the castle gardens with quiet resolve. It had been a trying four days away from Emma, but his hope had remained high that their final moment together had meant something.

That was until yesterday.

He’d been in those very gardens contemplating his future with his Swan as he watched her namesake glide along the reflection pool. Much of the afternoon had been spent finalizing all that which he’d planned to say to her during their rendezvous the next day, but when he’d stood to leave, all his carefully selected words and heartfelt declarations fell void in his mind as he saw his Swan on the salon terrace in Graham’s embrace sharing a kiss.

It was several long moments before the air had returned to his lungs, and Killian once again faced the possibility that Emma’s decision was far more complicated than he’d wished to consider.

In addition to her feelings for him, had she been struggling with affections for Graham as well?

Killian could hardly begrudge her if she had. Graham had been her family’s loyal knight for years. There was history between them. Trust and devotion. Emma had shielded Graham from him that very first day of their occupation and had begged for his life. Killian had suspected something more between them even then, but had put it from his mind the more he’d drawn closer to her, believing that he had replaced whatever feelings she might have once felt for her second.

There was no ignoring or denying it now, however.

Emma had more than her feelings for Killian to take into account, and he feared that at the end of her calculations she would realize that he didn’t stack up.

Killian had sworn to fight for her, but he’d also vowed that her heart’s desire was all he wanted her to have, and as he entered the gardens and saw his Swan basked in the sunlight of the morning, Killian knew that _her_ heart would always take precedence over his own.

Her heart’s desire.

That’s what he wanted her to have.

Even if it wasn’t him.

“Hey there, Swan,” he called out in greeting, trying to place a warm smile at his lips for her.

“Sir Killian,” she returned. “I cannot tell you what a relief it is to be in your presence once again.” A shakiness edged her words, betraying the nerves underneath.

“You don’t have to do that, Swan,” he assured, not wanting to waste time on pleasantries that would only make the truth more difficult for her to confess.

“Do what?” she asked, confusion lacing her words and tracing her features.

“Pretend that you haven’t already made up your mind,” he whispered softly, the words almost too painful to give any amount of volume.

“You think I’ve already made my decision?” she questions with furrowed brow.

“Aye,” he affirmed. “Sir Graham and Sir August are fine men. They both love you in their own way, and despite the rather convincing show of fealty they gave to the king, you and I both know they’re only loyal to you.”

“So, you think I will choose either August or Graham?” her bewilderment holding fast.

“Well, ultimately I think you’ll choose Graham,” he confessed, not wanting to disclose that he had seen their shared moment. “but it’s whatever your heart desires, Swan. I told you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted you to have.”

Emma approached him and placed a hand at his chest as she replied, “But that’s just the thing. Graham is not my heart’s desire. I don’t love him.”

Killian’s head snapped up, and for the first time since he’d entered the garden, his eyes met hers as he assessed the truth behind her declaration. “You don’t?”

“I mean,” she clarified as she removed her hand from him and made her way to the stone bench with him at heel, “I love him as I love August, or Ruby, or Ashley. He will always be dear to me. But I do not love him, not like I... not like that. Not in the same way he loves me.”

“Does he know that?” Killian quipped, his brow arching with the question.

“Yes,” she answered as they sat. “He says that with time I could grow to love him, but surely if I haven’t done so by now, no amount of time will change that. I have to take that into account. I have to take everything into account.”

She didn’t love Graham.

Killian couldn’t stop the surge of hope that rushed into his heart as he verified that her account included him as well.

“Emma. Are you... are you saying that you are taking me into account?”

Emma stilled and took a deep breath, appearing to set her courage for what she was about to reveal.

“August is more like a brother to me,” she explained, “and Graham is… Graham, but neither of them are the man I love.” Her eyes met his as the full weight of her words settled over him.

Killian willed his eyes to stop blinking and his mouth to start working.

“D-did you just say,” he stammered. “Do you? Emma. Do you love me?”

“Yes, Killian,” she confessed, and his smile could not be contained at her words. “I love you,” but before he could respond in kind she added, “but that isn’t enough to base my decision on.”

“Why the bloody hell not?!” he exclaimed, the extreme tempo at which his emotions had surged in those few minutes of her presence causing his passions to magnify with ferocity. Killian bid his emotions to stabilize as best they could as he beseeched, “Emma, if you love me as I love you, how can that not be enough?”

“You love me?” she confirmed, eyes wide with wonder and relief at his declaration.

“Aye, Swan. I love you.” Killian took her hand and placed it over his heart, willing it to materialize into her hands as proof that it belonged to her. Emma’s smile beamed at him, and he could see the acceptance of his words filling her eyes.

“And would you pledge me your fealty?” she asked with hopeful expectation, and Killian felt himself still at her question.

He loved his Swan with all his heart, but his fealty… his fealty belonged to his king, and to his king alone.

“Emma,” he began hesitantly. “You have my love, you must know that.” Killian’s heart crumbled as he watched her hope deflate.

She removed her hand from his chest as she said, “But not your true loyalty. Your fealty belongs to your king, not me.”

“Emma, I would spend the rest of my days loving and protecting you,” he vowed. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to secure your happiness.”

“Nothing except put my happiness before your loyalty to your king,” she gritted out, a note of contempt hedging at their meaning.

Killian was taken aback by her tone, “Put you before my king?” he repeated, momentarily puzzled by her meaning until he began to understand the source of her grievance. He’d been a fool to not consider it before. “You mean like smuggling you out of the kingdom to reunite with your parents? Is that what Graham has promised you?” he inquired. His temper flared at the knight who had proposed such a folly to the woman before him.

Of course, she’d wish to see her parents again, but that was not the way, and Killian grasped at his slipping control as he relayed all that such a corrupt act would mean for them. All it could cost them.

“Because to do so would betray my king and force us to live in exile, wanted fugitives, with prices on our heads for the remainder of our days? And not just us,” he continued. “It would pass along a legacy of treachery and distrust to our children, Swan. Is that what you want?

Emma remained silent and would not meet his gaze, and Killian’s ire flared once more at the way Graham must have used Killian’s own honor as a poison against him.

“Answer me, Emma,” Killian demanded, and Emma flinched at his tone.

_Damn his temper!_

Killian took several calming breaths and reached out for Emma’s hand as he softly assured, “Swan, you can tell me anything.”

“No, I cannot,” she answered tearfully, still refusing to look upon him.

“Of course you can, Swan,” he urged, his thumb trailing over the back of her hand

“No!” she protested, pulling her hand away. “You are a loyal subject of the king!” Her words were delivered in a spiteful accusation born out of the pain she must be feeling in her heart. The same pain that gnawed within his own. “I may not love Graham, but at least I know he’ll always put me first, above all else!”

“You don’t think I would put you first?” Killian asked incredulously. Had he not proven to her time and again that he would do all within his power to serve her desires above all others?

“How can you?” she questioned, looking up at him with great swirls of doubt resting within her eyes and along her features. “As long as your oath of fealty remains with Arthur, how can I ever believe any vow you give _me_?”

“Emma,” he caressed softly. “What sort of man would I be if my oath could be so easily broken? How could you ever trust any vow I gave you if you knew I treated my word so carelessly?” Killian felt tears prick at his eyes in frustration. How could he make her understand? “I may not be able to take you to your parents in the way Graham has offered, but I can promise to make sure Arthur stays good to his word and allows you to get a message to them that you’re safe, and I _can_ promise to never stop petitioning him for their full pardon so that you can be reunited with them freely one day.”

“How long will that take, Killian?” Emma asked, her own tears forming pools along her lashes. “How long will I have to endure, will my parents have to endure, while you bow and scrape to your king for his favor?” Now her tears gave way as she poured out the true heartache she feared. “And what if in the waiting my father should return for me? You would have to take up arms against my own father in service of your king.”

“We would just have to have faith that it will never come to that.” He tried to reassure her as he wiped her tears from her cheeks.

“And if it did?” she posed, refusing to allow his comfort and assurances to guide her into hope. “How am I to endure my father and the man I love taking up arms against each other?”

Killian wished he could enter again into the gardens and begin their exchange anew. He would keep better hold of his temper, would have chosen words that could have more effectively combated the poison Sir Graham’s counsel had left. It was apparent in Emma’s mind that nothing less than a promise from him to betray Arthur would prove his loyalty to her. He would always put her first, and he knew he’d never have to betray Arthur to keep that promise. But she wanted him to choose anyway.

“I love you, Emma. I would give my life for you, but please,” he begged, his heart breaking as he lay the unspoken ultimatum before them. “Please do not make me choose between you and my king.”

Emma pulled herself away fully from him, and with a sob she replied, “You already have.”

Killian closed his eyes and allowed his tears to slip past their defenses. Nothing he could say would ever convince her now. She believed that treachery was the only way to gain what she desired - her parents - and Killian was powerless to convince her otherwise.

“Then I guess there is nothing left to say,” he murmured softly as he stood to take his leave, but then paused and faced her once more.

“Except,” he began. One last attempt to make her hear the truth. One last opportunity to leave nothing unspoken. One last chance to fight. “I will always put you first, Swan, and I know it will not require deceit or treachery to give you what you desire. I would not rest until you had everything you ever wanted, my love,” he vowed with his whole heart. “But,” he continued on, the pain of the alternative tearing at his chest. “But if you cannot find it in your heart to trust me, to trust my love and loyalty, than know this… my fealty may lie with Arthur, but I assure you… your secret is safe with me. I will not reveal Graham’s plan to betray his oath. Just… be careful, Swan,” he warned. “Graham’s treachery will become your own, and Arthur will not be so generous with his mercy in light of such treason, and I… I will not be able to protect you.”

“Because I chose to wed another?” Emma snapped accusingly, the intention behind her words revealing her assumption that his refusal to come to her aid would be out of a response of spite on his part.

“No, Swan, I’ll have no warranted right _to_ intervene,” he answered mournfully. “If you marry Graham, you’ll no longer be mine to protect.” He then added with a wistful smile, “Not that you’ve ever needed anyone to do that for you anyway.”

Emma’s expression softened toward him, but he could still see the torment of her warring thoughts and emotions behind her eyes.

What else could Killian say to convince her to trust him?

Nothing, he realized. She didn’t need anymore words or declarations, what she needed was time to sort it all out. Something she had little of before the king would expect her answer the next morning.

“The choice is your, Emma,” Killian reminded. “Listen to your gut, Swan. It’ll tell you what to do.” With that final piece of counsel, Killian retrieved the swan feather from his pocket, and pressed it into her palm. “Keep this,” he urged, “as a token of my love for you and representation of my heart. And know that regardless of what choice you make tomorrow… it will always belong to you.” He gave her a light kiss to her forehead before leaving the gardens, with his heart and his hope resting in the palm of her hand.

* * *

 

Killian and the other _suitors_ stood along the east wall the following morning as Lady Emma entered the Great Hall. She was a vision in blue silk with her golden hair intricately knotted in a plait down her back, and despite the trepidation Killian knew she must be feeling, his Swan appeared regal and confident as she stood before King Arthur.

“Well, Lady Emma,” King Arthur addressed. “I take it you have had time enough to make a decision. Tell us. Who shall the fortunate man be?”

Killian’s eyes shut as he awaited her announcement. Although he had tried to remain hopeful that their love would win out during her ruminations, he was not ready to hear the words. Fearing he might hear another man’s name fall from her lips, his gut churned as the moment stretched on without any word from Emma.

Finally, he heard her begin to answer the king’s inquiry, and Killian opened his eyes to face her choice.

“I have made my decision, Your Majesty,” Emma confirmed. “I have chosen to take as my husband-” Her answer was interrupted as sounds of battle erupted from outside the Great Hall.

“Your Majesty!” one of the king’s guard exclaimed as he made his way into the hall, barring the door behind him. “We are under attack! They have breached the castle walls!”

“Who?” King Arthur demanded.

“Sir David and his allies!” the guard replied. “They have come to rescue Lady Emma and take back the kingdom.”

“Seize Lady Emma and her knights!” Commanded Arthur, and the room broke out in a flurry of activity.

Killian had never frozen in the face of battle before. He had always been sure of his purpose, absolute in his reasons to fight, and firm in the loyalty of who he was fighting for, but in that moment the solid foundations on which he had built his life shifted beneath him and he found himself at a crossroads.

He had seen the look on Emma’s face when it was announced that her father had come for her. The relief, the longing, and the determination to fight her way to him. Killian had vowed that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to secure her happiness short of betraying his king, but now that was exactly what her happiness would cost.

Would he loyally serve the sovereign he had pledged his sword and obedience to, or the woman he loved and would willingly lay down his life for?

In those few heartbeats of time, Sir Walsh and Lord Baelfire had disarmed and subdued Graham and August, Killian’s own brother had bound Emma’s wrists, and the battle on the grounds threatened to spill into the great hall.

Liam thrust Emma into Killian’s arms, breaking him from him paralysis. “Place her behind the hidden panel and guard her with your life, brother,” Liam commanded before he turned to join the fray.

“Killian, please!” Emma pleaded in earnest. “Release me. Give me a weapon. Let me go to my father, please!”

He took one look at the tears that had formed in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks, and knew that he’d already made the choice in his heart. It had been made that very first day in the chapel when he’d chosen to shield and champion her - he chose her. He would always choose her.

“Do you trust me, Swan?” he asked softly, wiping the tears from her face, oblivious to the chaos that was steadily drawing near them.

He watched as Emma’s eye flickered between his as she confessed with certainty, “Yes, Killian. I trust you.”

He wasted no time moving her to the panel and opening it. “Then I need you to stay in here until it is safe, love.”

Although she stepped inside without hesitation, and allowed him to remove her bindings, she gave one last petition before he could shut her in. “Killian, you know I am capable of protecting myself. I can fight.”

“I know, Emma,” he told her, running his fingers over the errant strand that had worked its way free from her braid, “but I need you to trust me and remain here, love. _Please_.”

The fight had nearly reached them, and they didn’t have much time, but Killian waited for her agreement.

“Alright, Killian,” she relented. “I’ll remain here,” and she grabbed his hand as she pleaded, “Just… please come back to me.”

“I’ll not leave your side, Swan. I promise you that.”

Killian closed the panel, concealing her within the wall, and stood guard. He would not engage unless someone brought the fight to him. If Sir David proved victorious then he would gladly release Emma into her father’s protection, but if he wasn’t then the only way Killian could hope to protect Emma’s future was for his king to believe that his loyalty belonged solely to him, and not to the woman who’d captured his heart.

As the battle raged on it became apparent that King Arthur’s men were outnumbered. Killian remained fixed in front of the panel, his brother’s men guarding him as he guarded Emma.

As quickly as it had begun the conflict seemed to come to a halt as all eyes came to rest on the clash between King Arthur and Sir David himself, and fighting ceased as the room witnessed the duke disarming the king, ordering him to surrender.

A cheer of victory rose from Sir David’s men and allies, but Killian saw, lurking in the shadows to Sir David’s right, Lord Baelfire poised to strike the unsuspecting duke.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Killian dropped his sword in order to grasp the dagger at his waist. In one swift motion he sent the blade flying, striking Baelfire in the neck, killing him instantly, before the treacherous man could administer a fatal blow upon Emma’s father.

It was difficult to say who appeared the most shocked and confused by his action; King Arthur or Sir David.

Swords belonging to both Sir David’s and Arthur’s men were now trained on Killian, looks of confusion and disbelief etched upon their faces. Sir David once again called for King Arthur’s surrender, and the king commanded that his men lay down their arms.

A guard was placed over the deposed king as he sat awaiting his fate, and his men were rounded up with orders that they all be taken to the dungeons below. Sir David approached Killian before turning his attentions back to Arthur and quipped, “Either you have terrible aim, or I owe you my life.”

“Oh, I assure, Sire. I never miss,” Killian shot back with his usual bravado, despite the number of swords still trained on his person.

“I don’t understand. Why would you risk your own life to save mine?” Sir David questioned.

“Oh, I didn’t do it for you, mate,” Killian winked at the incredulous duke as he slowly reached back and released the catch, revealing Emma hidden behind the panel.

“Papa!” she exclaimed as she threw herself into her father’s arms.

“My darling, Emma,” Sir David whispered into her hair, his voice shaky with emotion.

Killian watched their reunion with bittersweet pleasure. His Swan was safe, back in the protection of her father, his men, and their allies, but she would never truly be his Swan now. His actions against Baelfire had surely sealed his fate. He would be branded a traitor to the crown, while still considered an enemy to Sir David’s kingdom.

Assuming a treaty could be reached between Misthaven and Camelot, Killian would most likely return home in chains. If he were lucky he’d be stripped of his knighthood and all his holdings, and banished from Camelot. If not, well… he’d pray his execution would be merciful and quick, and that it would occur before the Dark One learned of his son’s fate.

Killian shuddered to think what the evil imp would have in store for him.

Liam would want to stand by his brother, of course, but he had Elsa and the alliance with Arendelle to consider. Killian couldn’t allow his brother’s good name and his hope for happiness with the woman he loved to be destroyed. He would have to convince Liam to turn his back on him, renounce him publicly before the court. It would take some convincing, but he would make Liam see reason, no matter how much it might pain him to do so.

Despite everything though, all the uncertainty, all the pain he might endure, even if it cost him his life, Killian would never regret his choice. He’d choose Emma a thousand times over, consequences be damned.

“Sire,” said one of knights who currently had him held at the point of his sword, drawing Killian from his contemplations. “What would you have us do with this one?”

Sir David gave him a moment’s consideration before ordering, “Take him away with the others.”

Before they could haul him off to the dungeons, Emma pulled herself from her father’s embrace and ordered them to stop.

“Release him,” she commanded.

“Emma,” her father protested. “He may have saved my life, but he is still one of Arthur’s loyal knights.”

“No, Papa, you’re wrong,” she argued, and then moved to stand before Killian. “He is my loyal knight,” she stated and then, looking only at him, she marveled, “You chose me.”

“Aye, Swan, I told you I would,” Killian replied. “All you had to do was trust me.”

“I do trust you, Killian,” Emma confessed as she cupped his face in her hands. “That’s why I chose you, too. I choose you to be my husband,” she declared for all in the hall to hear.

“You what?!” Sir David exclaimed

“David. Now is not the time,” a woman’s voice admonished from behind them, causing a swell of fresh tears to emerge from Emma’s gaze as she released Killian and ran to the lady who could only be Emma’s mother.

As Killian watched mother and daughter reunite Sir David came to stand beside him as he muttered, “I think it's time you and I have a little talk about your intentions with my daughter.”

“Aye, milord,” Killian replied, but then turned his attentions away from heartfelt declarations and family reunions, and focused himself on his duty - if he could still claim it as such. “But first. On behalf of my king I seek audience with your grace to discuss the terms of Camelot’s surrender,” Killian requested formally.

Sir David eyed the knight suspiciously and asked, “Under what authority do you make such a request?”

“Under my authority, sire,” Killian responded, “as His Majesty’s Captain of the Guard.” Killian smiled at the duke’s responding eye roll. _So like his daughter,_ Killian mused.

“Of course you are,” muttered the duke as he signaled to his wife and daughter, and led Killian and Arthur from the Great Hall.

“Come,” Sir David commanded. “We’ve much to discuss.” The duke gave Killian a withering stare as he eyed the knight placing his hand at the small of his daughter’s back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir David and Lady Snow have reclaimed Misthaven from King Arthur. Can Camelot's king negotiate a peace treaty that protects himself and his kingdom? What consequences await Sir Killian for his actions against Baelfire? Can Lady Emma convince her parents that her and Sir Killian's love is true? Is a happy beginning possible after all they've been through?

**Chapter 10**

Killian could not meet his king’s gaze. He and Arthur had been led to the war council room by the duke and his family, only to be instructed to remain there as the family conferred elsewhere. Men who had been under Killian’s own authority that very morning, as per his alliance with Lady Emma, were now stationed as guards outside the door.

Killian glanced over at Arthur to assess his sovereign’s temperament, and found him withdrawn and pensive. Drumming his fingers lightly atop the table at which he sat, Arthur seemed to take no notice of his Captain and Killian wondered if, perhaps, the king would feel more comfortable having a knight he could fully trust with him during the negotiations.

“When the duke returns, I can request for Sir Robin to be summoned in my place,” Killian offered.

Arthur looked up at his knight, confusion lining his features. “Why would I wish Sir Robin over my Captain?” Arthur inquired.

Killian shuffled on his feet, unaccustomed to feeling so unsure in his sovereign’s presence. With a fortifying breath Killian met Arthur’s gaze as he took ownership of his actions with Baelfire, and then silently awaited the king’s judgment of his betrayal.

“Killian,” Arthur began. “That alliance was a farce from the outset. You know that better than anyone,” he declared. “We had already been defeated, and you were protecting the father of the woman you love. I do not fault you for that.”

“But others will, Your Majesty,” Killian protested. “I murdered an allied lord of our realm in full view of dozens of witnesses.”

“Fortunately,” Arthur countered. “It is only how I choose to view the incident that matters. And I choose to view your actions as a necessity of your duty, not a betrayal.”

“How so?” Killian asked incredulously.

“If Baelfire had succeeded in killing Sir David, and we had somehow been able to push back the duke’s men and allies, I would have owed Baelfire my life,” Arthur reminded. “And what do you think he would have required from such a debt?”

“Emma,” Killian answered in revelation.

“Indeed,” Arthur responded with a nod. “And if we’d lost the battle? With her father dead, who would have been able to stop him from attempting to abduct her again? And whose mercy would our kingdom be under with Sir David dead?” Arthur posed. “As far as I am concerned, you positioned yourself to barter the best possible outcome of our surrender, while also protecting your betrothed.”

“But she wasn’t my betrothed at the time,” Killian countered.

“Sure she was, Killian,” Arthur smirked. “I never had any doubts that she’d choose you in the end.” His admission pulled a smile from Killian’s lips for the first time since they’d been left to stew in the room on their own. “You’re a good man, Killian,” Arthur declared, “and one hell of a knight. One day, I have no doubt, you will make a fine king, as well.”

Killian blanched at Arthur’s statement and stared dumbstruck at his sovereign. “King?”

“Aye,” Arthur affirmed with a fresh smirk. “Sir David is the true heir of Misthaven, and will become king as a result of our treaty, which means Lady Emma will become…”

“Princess Emma,” Killian stated with shocked realization.

“Future Queen of Misthaven,” Arthur confirmed. “And that will make you King one day.”

Killian shook himself from these prospects as he posed, “That’s if Sir David will allow our betrothal to stand.”

“I’ve no doubt that Lady Emma has that particular negotiation well in hand,” Arthur surmised. “But if he should need a bit of additional incentive, I may have an idea on how we can secure your match as part of the treaty,” Arthur said cunningly.

“How?”

“Come, Captain,” Arthur invited, as he motioned to the seat next to him. “Let’s you and I prepare the terms of our surrender, and secure all our future’s as best we can.”

* * *

 

“I missed you both so much,” Emma cried, as her parents pulled her into another hug.

Her father had led them to one of the small salons next to the war room, and she immediately found herself surrounded in their embrace.

“You’re sure you’re alright, Emma?” her mother asked hesitantly. Concern laced each word as she braced herself for what Emma could only imagine were some of her worst fears awaiting confirmation.

“I am well, mother, truly,” Emma reassured. “I have been treated well, with the greatest of respect.”

“Respect?” her father questioned darkly. “Our intell said you were being forced into marriage! That you were offered up as prize to Camelot’s nobles. Just what was going on in the Great Hall when we entered, Emma? Because respectful would be the _last_ word I would use to describe-”

“David!” Snow admonished, as she led her family to the sofas. “I’m sure Emma will spare no detail in her retelling of the account, but can we not have just a moment to enjoy her presence once again?”

Well and fully contrite in response to his wife’s words, Sir David embraced his daughter once again, cradling the back of her head as he always did, and assured her that he was relieved to find her well. After another few moments of rejoicing tears and embraces, Emma settled herself in for the long tale of their land’s occupation.

She did not impart _every_ detail of her experience under Sir Killian, and later King Arthur’s rule, but she was honest and open in all other regards, and did not shy away from the probing of her parents’ inquiry.

“I can not believe you actually engaged in a knightly tournament,” her mother astounded with pride lacing her words.

“I nearly won, too,” Emma boasted.

“Except _that knight_ forfeited when he realized it was you?” her father questioned.

“His name is Sir Killian Jones, Papa. As I have told you a number of times already,” Emma replied tersely.

“Yes, yes,” David waved, as if the reminder were a nuisance, “your betrothed. How could I forget?” he grumbled. “Fortunately, there’ll be no need to go through with that now.”

“What?” Emma exclaimed.

“Well, now that we’ve reclaimed the lands and have Camelot’s king at our mercy, you will not have to go through with any marriage contracted under his authority,” Snow explained.

“But our betrothal is not contracted under his authority,” Emma professed.

“Whose then?” David asked. “That knight’s? Because I assure you that-”

“Mine!” Emma shouted, causing both her parents to look upon her in astonishment. “Our betrothal was set under _my_ authority. I was given the choice and I choose Killian.”

“But, darling, you don’t have to now,” Snow pressed on. “You can have your choice of husbands, and as the princess of this realm, you will have quite the pool to choose from.”

“Princess?”

“We did not just return to find you, Emma,” her father explained. “We returned to secure the kingdom back from Camelot’s grasp. After our negotiations, I will take my rightful place as King of Misthaven, as I should have from the beginning.”

Emma could see the guilt and torment her father must have been carrying for weeks now. The fear and anxiety over leaving his daughter behind instead of standing up to King George that must have eaten away at him as he wondered what had happened to her. Emma embraced her father once more, whispering words of assurance and forgiveness into his neck, but he refused to fully accept her comfort.

Wiping away the vestiges of his emotion, David held his daughter’s hand as he offered his apology and promised to do whatever was necessary to make up for the heartache his inaction had caused her. Sir David vowed to consider any indulgence she may wish in order to secure her happiness.

Emma worried at her lip. She really did not need her father to do anything, for she didn’t believe he truly had anything to atone for. There were, however, a few things she wished for her parent’s to accept and agree upon, and though she disliked using the tactics Killian had taught her when she was to handle the audience with his king, she did not let that stop her from making a few petitions in exchange for her proclaimed happiness.

“Well…” she began sweetly, “there might be just one or two things you could do for me.”

* * *

 

Killian and his king stood as the duke and his family entered, and he had to stop himself from approaching and embracing Lady Emma, though his arms longed to hold her.

“Be seated,” the duke ordered, after he and the ladies took a seat along the table as well.

Although his focus should have been on the duke and the proceedings they were about to enter into, Killian could not stop himself from glancing at his Swan. Her head was bowed, eyes firmly set on the table before her, and Killian swallowed back a sense of dread at her reserved nature.

“Well, Your Majesty,” Sir David began, “my family and I are ready to hear your terms.”

“Actually, Sir David,” Killian replied, drawing the duke’s focus and hardening glare. “His Majesty requests that the honor of terms be presented by you and your family first.”

The duke assessed Killian momentarily, his gaze still holding a glint of steel within their depths, before acquiescing to the knight’s request. “Very well. My wife and I will be laying claim to the throne of Misthaven as heir of King George. We offer that the border between our kingdoms remain as it is, and my daughter insists that you retain your claim as sovereign over Camelot.” Killian shot his Swan an incredulous look. “Any of Misthaven’s lords that remain capable of doing so, shall be given leave to reclaim their lands and holdings, and all of your subjects and allies will remove themselves from our kingdom within a fortnight.”

Arthur nodded his head throughout the duke’s address, and summed up his offer with, “So each kingdom will leave these proceedings with no more and no less than what we arrived with at the onset of my campaign?”

“Yes,” the duke affirmed. “Those are my terms. Do we have an accord?”

“Not quite,” Killian answered on his king’s behalf, drawing another cold stare from the duke.

“What more do you wish for?” David’s look became murderous as he no doubt listed off in his mind all the things the man who had been declared his daughter’s betrothed could wish for.

“Oh, do not misunderstand, my lord,” Arthur interjected. “It is not something we wish to receive, but rather something we can offer by way of a treatied alliance between our kingdoms.”

All three heads of the duke’s family snapped to the king, and Killian chortled at the matching brow they each gave, divulging their confusion over his statement.

“You seek a treaty of alliance with Misthaven beyond the terms of your surrender?” Lady Snow inquired.

“I do, milady,” Arthur confirmed.

“What sort of alliance?” the duke questioned suspiciously.

“One that will benefit each of our kingdoms in their protection from The Dark One,” Killian announced, and he watched as they each blanched at the mention of the evil imp.

“Why would Misthaven need protection from The Dark One? You’re the one that killed his son,” Sir David accused.

“Whilst saving your neck,” Killian countered heatedly. “Do you really think that old crocodile is going to parse blame when he learns of his son’s demise? He’ll come for all who might have had a hand in Baelfire’s death, and that puts not just me in danger of his wrath, but all of Camelot and Misthaven as well,” Killian looked once more at his beloved Swan, wishing to quell the panic he saw in her green depths.

Sir David considered Killian’s assertion before relenting his position and asking, “And just what is this protection you’re offering?”

It was Arthur now who addressed the duke’s inquiry, as he answered, “I will send Merlin to deliver the news of Baelfire’s death to The Dark One. Before he leaves he will cast a protection spell over our two kingdoms, an old magic that The Dark One will not be able to overcome, as it is bound by true love. Misthaven’s protection will draw itself from you and Lady Snow, while Camelot’s will draw from mine and my queen’s. Though Merlin will do his best to give an accounting with as little detail as possible, Sir Killian is correct. Both of our kingdoms will be held culpable, and I offer this protection for as long as our two kingdoms are aligned, or until the threat of The Dark One is no longer a concern.”

“And this protection is in exchange for what, exactly?” Sir David asked with an accusatory air before turning his attentions fully on Killian. “Are you bartering for my daughter’s hand? Our protection in exchange for her?”

“No,” Killian answered firmly, drawing surprised looks from all parties involved, including his king. “The protection is yours because I want Emma kept safe from the crocodile,” he confessed. “I ask only one thing from you, sire.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your blessing,” Killian replied, and he took in the surprised look on the duke’s face as he stood to formal posture to ask, “Sir David, may I have your blessing to ask for Emma’s hand in marriage? For whatever we become, it’s up to her as much as me.”

The duke stared at Killian in stunned silence before looking over at her daughter who appeared to be giving him a look that screamed, _I told you so._ With a light shake of his head, and bemused smile creeping at his lips, the duke stood and extended his hand towards Killian.

“We have an accord,” the duke stated, and Killian clasped his hand, relief and unmitigated joy coursing through him.

Before he could even retrieve his hand from the duke’s grasp, his Swan launched herself into his arms and began peppering him with kisses.

“I told him you’d fight for me,” she exclaimed between presses of her lips. “He was afraid you only saw me as... some sort of loot... or conquest, so he wouldn’t agree to my... condition in the terms... but you proved your love for me... when you requested his blessing.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh at his beloved’s staccatoed explanation through her affectionate assault. “I almost didn’t, love” he confessed, as he noticed that her parents and Arthur had adjourned from the room, leaving them quite alone. “Arthur and I had planned to make our betrothal a part of the provision of Merlin’s protection, but I changed my mind the moment he accused me of such a tactic.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want _anyone_ to think you were forced into this,” he confessed, and then as he scratched behind his ear he felt a blush overcome him as he added, “I want everyone to know that _you_ chose me.”

Emma beamed at his admission, and cupped his flushed cheeks in her hands. “And I want everyone to know that you chose me, too,” she offered.

“Then,” he said with a deep breath, “I guess there is only one thing left to do.” He sank down to his knee before her. “Lady Emma, soon-to-be Princess of Misthaven,” he chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “My beloved Swan. My love was born for you out of so much uncertainty, and I know we still face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of,” he declared in earnest, “that I will always, always, be by your side. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, Killian,” she answered, joyful tears spilling over her lashes. “Yes!”

* * *

The next day, with assemblies representing Camelot and Misthaven, and both kingdom’s allies present, Sir David, Duke of Shepherd and Arthur, King of Camelot signed a peace treaty unifying their two kingdoms.

As per their agreement, Merlin arrived to cast the protection spell over Misthaven, and personally ordained the newly crowned King David and Queen Snow as the land’s rightful sovereigns.

Before he set off to face the arduous task before him, Merlin performed one last act to seal the pact between Misthaven and Camelot - presiding over the wedding ceremony of Sir Killian and the newly crowned Princess Emma.

Facing one another in the castle gardens where their love for one another first began to bloom, Killian and Emma pledged their love and fealty to one another for all eternity. Despite all they had overcome though, they refused to accept Merlin’s assertion that they had obtained their happy ending. For they each knew that was not what they had fought so hard for.

They had fought for their love and won - not a happy ending - but a happy beginning.

* * *

 

Emma set her bouquet of forget-me-nots and swan feathers (a bundle she assembled as tribute to her groom for their ceremony), on her bedside table and began to pace nervously as she waited for her husband - _husband! -_ to arrive. She trembled in anticipation as she bid the fears that naturally plagued any maiden on her wedding night to leave her musings, but they stubbornly lingered.

Emma was not completely naive about what was about to take place. Her mother had taken the time to thoroughly, and with as much vagueness as possible as to the actual logistics, wax poetic about all the beauty the marital act could contain between two people deeply in love. The logistics were something she’d been able to glean over the course of her life being raised around livestock, though, she assumed the experience differed vastly between people and animals.

At least she hoped so.

In all honesty, she wasn’t sure what additional expectations she should have beyond simply consummating her marriage. Or what expectations her groom might have. Emma just hoped she didn’t disappoint Killian in some way, and her insecurities added to her nerves all the more.

She had no misconceptions about the measure of experience her husband would come to their marriage bed with; a fact she tried not to dwell on as she attempted to pull comfort out of the knowledge that at least one of them would know what they were doing. That comfort, however, fell short of truly calming her as Emma remembered back to all those times she had sensed those darker impulses under Killian’s surface. A seductive darkness that had stirred Emma’s passions while simultaneously causing panic to course through her as he surveyed her as a pirate would his plunder.

But there was also the affectionate man who revered her with his soft gazes as if she were something to cherish.The man who held his esteem for her in proper etiquette with every word and respectful touch, as any good and chivalrous knight ought.

But which man was about to enter her chamber door? The pirate, or the knight?

She did not have to wait long, as a moment later a knock sounded from the other side of her chamber door, announcing Killian before he entered.

Dressed in a simple tunic and light trousers, Emma had never seen him look so relaxed and at ease in his appearance, and the effect released much of her own anxieties even as she took in the appreciative way his eyes roamed over her form.

Emma’s heart began to race in an entirely new way as his eyes came to rest upon her own. Shaded in midnight, his gaze burned hungrily as he took purposeful steps to towards her, and she braced herself for his unrestrained response, knowing he had right as her husband to lay siege upon her body as he had desired to many times before.

He did not give over in complete abandon as she expected, but instead gently cupped her face in his hands as he whispered, “I have never seen you look lovelier, my stunning bride.”

“Bride?” she questioned with a giggle, “I believe I am your wife now, _my lord_ ,” she teased him with his new title.

A grin washed over his features at her words, and his eyes flashed with wanton intent as he replied, “Not yet, love. But by night’s end I mean to remedy that.” He caught her lips in a searing kiss that had her trembling once again with panicked anticipation.

Sensing her distress, Killian pulled back, stroking her cheek as he moved his other hand to rub circles over her back.

“It’s alright, Swan,” he comforted. “It’s normal to be nervous. I promise not to rush you, we’ve all night, after all,” he reminded with a wink, but then his brows furrowed in consideration as he said, “unless, of course, you’d rather we wait.”

Emma looked up at him, startled by his words. “Why would we wait?” she questioned as Killian released her and took a step back.

“I know you love me, Swan, but just because we’ve pledged our lives together doesn’t mean you’re truly ready for what is expected to occur between us tonight,” he said. “I told you once that I wanted you to want me, and that’s never been more true than right now. I don’t want you forced, not even by the expectation of tradition.”

Emma’s heart swelled. She didn’t think it possible that she could love this man anymore than she had when she made her vows, but in that moment her love for him grew exponentially. Taking a small step forward to close the gap between them, Emma reached for the hem of his tunic and gently began to lift it off of him. Killian let out a small gasp of surprise at her action, but continued to search her eyes for validation.

“I am nervous,” she admitted, “and I don’t really know what to expect or what to do.” She could feel the heat of her blush over take her face and neck at her confession. “But…” she paused to hold his stare with her own, so there would be no mistaking her sincerity, “I do want you, Killian. I want you to make me your wife, and I want you to be my husband, in every way.” She leaned in on her tiptoes to seal the proof of her words with a kiss.

She felt Killian’s arms circle her waist as he pulled her flush to him, a groan sounding at the back of his throat as her arms wrapped around his neck. Emma felt feverish as the kiss continued to intensify. Assaulted with the sensations of hot, slick tongue and nipping bites at her lip, mixed with the rough heat of his hands as they roamed in exploration of her back, buttocks, and thighs, Emma was overwhelmed with a pulsating need coiling deep within her. She warred with nerves that implored her to pull away even as her body beseeched her to press in further.

Ever aware of his Swan’s thoughts and emotions, Killian reigned in the unbridled passions of the moment and murmured reassurances against her lips.

“One step at a time, love,” he whispered. “We’ll take it one step at a time, and you’ll let me know if anything is too much for you, yeah?”

Emma nodded, and Killian took her hands in his and placed them upon his bare chest. “Here, Swan,” he encouraged. “Don’t be afraid to touch me. I belong to you now every bit as much as you belong to me.”

Emma took in his exposed upper body for the first time and marveled at his strong physique. Of course, she expected it would be so, given the hours of training he endured as Captain, but seeing him and feeling him under her fingertips only further stirred that longing that ached in her chest (and a bit further down). She watched as his eyes closed and his head tipped back when she ran her hands through the layer of coarse hair that blanketed his chest. The release of another soft groan from deep in his throat emboldened her to continue her explorations.

She glided her hands down towards his stomach and grinned at the sudden pull his muscles gave at her light touch. Not quite ready to follow the trail of masculine thatch that disappeared below the band of his pants, Emma ghosted her fingers back up and playfully grazed over his nipples earning her another moan from Killian’s lips.

He leaned in and began to work the pulse of her neck with his lips and teeth as he gently began to ruck up the hem of her night dress. His attentions moved to a spot just behind her ear and her knees nearly buckled at the sensation. A sudden coolness swept over her lower body as she realized her gown had been lifted to her waist and it was then that she became aware of the slick pooling between her thighs.

That realization, compounded with her now complete exposure as her husband fully removed her garment, had her flushing anew under Killian’s awe-filled gaze. Gently, he brushed his fingertips across the top of her chest as he revered, “You’re a vision in pink, my love,” and Emma trembled slightly as he palmed her breast, reveling at the touch of his calloused hand over her sensitive skin.

He was kissing her again, and she felt him urge her towards the bed as he rubbed exquisite circles over her nipples, forming them into hardened peaks that begged for more. Without breaking their kiss, Killian positioned them in the center of their bed, with her on her back, and Emma gave way to her natural instinct to cradle him between her thighs.

The weight of him atop her felt decadent and she heeded his instruction from before, running her hands along his strong, smooth back, not shying away from touching every square inch of exposed skin. Something that could only be described as a growl reverberated from his chest when nails replaced soft pads as her fingers mapped their way over the planes of his shoulders and along the dip of his spine and hips.

His hips rolled into hers as her hands skimmed over his backside sending a rush of pleasure through her, and she gasped at the contact. A light chuckle echoed in her ear as Killian hummed at its shell, “Like that do you?”

“Yes,” she whispered on a breath that was shallow with want. And she wanted, very much.

“Well, then,” he replied. “Let’s see what else my bride might like.” Killian’s hands and mouth began their thorough study as they lavished their attentions along her collarbone, at each of her breasts, across her stomach, and down to that place which she’d once read described as, ‘the most sacred of places for which wars are fought and life begats’.

Emma did not usually give over to flights of fancy and poetry, but as his calloused fingers and rough tongue met the slick heat of her apex, she could think of no better description. For assuredly a war of passion and desire stirred and built within her as her body begged for clemency from the tensions of his pleasant assault, and she had never felt more alive than in that moment when her body arched and convulsed at the release of her climax under his mercy.

* * *

 

Killian had fought to keep his control ever since he first stepped foot in their bedchamber. The silhouette of her glorious body illuminated by the moonlight through her sheer night dress had him ready to ruck up the gown and take her against the wall, but he clamped down on that thought, promising that there would come a time in their marital relations for such an action, and focused on her needs over his own.

Heightened as his urgency and need for her was, Killian had been sincere in his offer to wait. He wanted no part of her to feel forced, and the memory of teasing her about her willingness and compliance had him praying that she desired him as fully has he did her (while tucking away yet another promise to his baser interests).

His blood sang as it simultaneously caught fire at the gesture of her compliance, and he again had to reign in his arousal as he promised to ease her into their intimacy. Her caress had sparked a fresh current of desire within him, and as much as he vowed to go slow, his need to touch her in kind would not be contained.

The feast revealed to him with the removal of her garment, and the flush of desire that had swept across her chest, snapped any vestiges of patience left within him, and he was relieved that she offered no hesitation as he guided her towards the bed.

He had envisioned his Swan beneath him - golden tresses fanned out across the pillows, lithe body writhing under his ministrations - countless times before, but no work of his imagination could ever compare to the reality. Visions of fantasy could never offer the accuracy of the luscious sensation of her smooth, satiny skin against him, nor had they ever played the symphony of sounds melodiously escaping her lips with every graze of his hand and swipe of his tongue. All this, mixed with the fragrance of her lavender scented essence now infused with the tang of her arousal was enough to drive him mad. The barrage overwhelming his senses, and his need to bring her to satisfaction drove him to worship her in earnest.

The shudder of her thighs, mixed with her shallow pants beckoned that she was close, and Killian could not keep himself from imbibing at the innermost part of her femininity, reveling in the heady taste of her ecstasy as it coated his tongue. Long, drawn out moans sang in his ears, and utterances that praised his name escaped from her lips as her passions crested. Killian gazed up to watch the rapture of his bride’s release, and nearly lost himself in the euphoria of her pleasure.

Making his way back up her spent form he held himself in check as she regained some semblance of composure, and took the opportunity to shuck his trousers. He met her wide-eyed gaze as he positioned himself between her thighs, and saw her swallow thickly as she took in the full sight of him.

“Will it hurt?” she asked nervously, and he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her knee as he answered.

“It might for a moment, but I promise to be as gentle as I can,” he assured, and she nodded as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Killian reached under and lifted her hips towards him as he eased himself into her welcoming embrace. Pausing only for a moment to bend down and capture her mouth when he reached the evidence of her maidenhead, he surged forward swallowing her cry as her body tightened against the intrusion. Willing himself to remain still as she adjusted to the feel of him, it was only when he felt her body begin to relax around him that he began to offer gentle promises of pleasure with the movement of his hips.

As in every other way, the feel of her was intoxicating to his senses, and it wasn’t long before he lost himself in the return of her moans and the response of her hips as they worked against his, matching him thrust for every glorious thrust. Drunk as he was in his own sensations in response to the elixir this night had offered him, Killian still managed to see to it that his wife (for she was well and truly that now) reached completion once more before spilling himself in the velvety heat of her haven.

They held one another as their skin cooled, neither bothered by the evidence of their love making seeping its way onto the sheets. It would only provide further proof of their union for those who required it the next day anyway, and Killian tamped down a primal urge to display it from their window as claim of the woman beside him.

“Does this mean you’ll be addressing me as _wife_ now?” Emma teased as she carded her fingers through his hair.

“Aye,” he answered sleepily, a smile grazing at his lips.

“Good. Because I think I quite enjoy being your wife,” Emma confessed, her tone laced with the bliss of her satisfaction.

“Is that so?” Killian questioned. “Tell me then, _wife,”_ Killian emphasized as he met her gaze, “what more can your devoted husband do to please you?”

A devious smirk met her mischievous eyes as she answered, “Well… I remember you saying something about chaining me to this bed once?” She bit at her lip as she awaited his reaction.

Which was full and prompt.

“And I remember telling you how tempting such an act would be,” he replied, “but another time, Swan, I assure you.” He kissed away her disappointed look as he reached over to the bedside table where her bridal bouquet lay. “I think we should keep to softer things tonight, my love,” he offered, as he began to sweep caresses over her flesh with a more appropriate tool for the kind of sweet torture he had in mind for his wife.

By the time sleep finally claimed them from their spent passions, Emma agreed with her husband. Swans were not to be underestimated, especially their feathers.

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

_Six months later…_

“Emma, love. You should be sitting down,” Killian fussed, trying to get his wife to take a seat instead of pacing Camelot’s war room.

“I’m with child, Killian. I’m not infirm,” Emma exasperated.

“I know that, Swan, but we’ve only just arrived from Arendelle. You and the wee one need to be resting after our journey, not wearing a bloody hole through the carpets.”

At four months gone, Killian had debated whether or not he and Emma should have even travelled to Arendelle for his brother’s wedding, but Emma wouldn’t hear of missing it because of her condition.

The wedding had been a grand event. Killian had never seen his brother happier, and he reluctantly admitted that he would have deeply regretted not being there to see Liam marry the love of his life. He and Emma spent nearly three weeks under Arendelle’s hospitality - far longer than any of the other wedding guests - as they spent time with Liam and Elsa, forging bonds of fraternal affection amongst them.

Just as Killian had predicted, Emma and Elsa had become the closest of friends from practically their first meeting. Though they both admitted to finding one another cold and prickly at first. By the time Emma and Killian were set to return to Misthaven, Elsa and Liam had been invited to visit after the honeymoon, and more visits for the subsequent birth of Killian and Emma’s child, their anniversary, and various other celebrations had been planned.

Before they could embark on their journey for Misthaven, however, an urgent summons from King Arthur, who had left Arendelle weeks prior, reached them beseeching their presence in Camelot. With an order to their ship’s Captain to change course, Killian and Emma found themselves at the shores of Killian’s homeland within a matter of days.

It was a strange feeling to be back. Camelot had endured much hardship since Arthur’s return, and Killian harbored guilt at not being there for his sovereign and friend.

It had all started after Arthur returned. Merlin had been unsuccessful in casting the protection spell over Camelot - the same spell he had been able to secure over Misthaven. The cause, it was rumored, was that the love Arthur and Queen Guinevere shared was not true, but that she, in fact, loved another.

An alternate spell had been cast over Camelot, but it was not as effective as the True Love bound incantation that shielded Misthaven. For not only did that spell protect their kingdom against any retribution from The Dark One, it also guarded the lands from unrest within and without its borders.

Misthaven had experienced six months of peace and prosperity, while Camelot withered under turmoil and strife due to infighting among the lords, and threats from opportunistic realms. Misthaven had been called upon a number of times to aid in the protection of Camelot’s borders, but there was little King David, Queen Snow, or Princess Emma and her Duke could do to quell the rebellion brewing throughout the land.

Killian feared, perhaps, an uprising among Camelot’s nobles was the cause of Arthur’s summons, and he began to strategize what options they had for a peaceful resolution, but as Arthur joined them in his war room, he divulged that it was not Camelot’s nobles that posed the threat, but The Dark One himself.

“I’ve received word from Merlin, who should be joining us soon,” Arthur commented. “The Dark One has been seeking out information about his son’s death.”

Merlin had delivered the news of Baelfire’s demise, but had withheld any details of how he had met his end. It was their hope that the imp would never know of Killian’s actions against Baelfire in order to save King David’s life, but Killian had always known that it would just be a matter of time. The number of witnesses were too numerous to control, and he’d flat refused to have their memories tampered with, either by potion or charm.

“Do we know who he’s been conversing with?” Emma asked.

“Aye,” Arthur answered grimly. “It seems Sir Walsh held a bit of a grudge with you both,” he revealed.

Sir Walsh had not returned to Camelot when he’d left Misthaven, angry over the fact that Killian had refused to name him as his successor as Captain, and still smarting from the slight that Lady Emma had not even given him fair consideration. Walsh had been present in the Great Hall when Killian had struck Bae down, and knew every detail of the whole bloody tale.

“So, The Dark One knows that it was Killian that killed Baelfire?” Emma clarified, and Arthur answered with a nod. “If I ever get my hands on that vile man, I’m going to-”

“You won’t have to,” Arthur interrupted her. “The Dark One has already seen to that particular task. Flayed the flesh clean off his bones.”

Killian shuddered at the thought, for despite his extreme dislike for the knight, no one deserved to die at that cruel imp’s hands.

“What now?” Emma questioned, fear lacing her words. “What will he do if he manages to gain access into Misthaven?”

“I’d wager he’ll want to kill me on sight,” Killian mused.

“Oh, I’ll take that bet,” a deranged voice sounded behind them, causing the three to jump to their feet and face the intruder.

Just as Killian recognized The Dark One and made move to shield his wife, he found himself frozen in place by some invisible force. Glancing over at Arthur and his Swan, he saw that they too were hostages of the crocodile’s hold.

Killian wished he could spare his love from witnessing the fate he knew awaited him at the crocodile’s hand, but he also hoped to incur all of the imp’s wrath and thereby protect her from harm.

“Go on then, crocodile,” Killian commanded. “Kill me. Get it over with.”

“I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for you sonny boy,” The Dark One sneered. “I want you alive. Because I want you to suffer, as I have suffered. You took my son from me, so I am going to take yours from you.” A cold wash of dread swept over Killian as the odious man turned and assessed Emma’s swollen abdomen with a critical eye. “Of course, seeing as your brat is still several months from being born, I guess I’ll have the pleasure of taking your twoo wuv from you as well,” he taunted.

Killian watched in horror as Excalibur, the restored blade he had watched Merlin reforge long ago, appeared in the The Dark One’s raised hand, and Killian violently struggled against the enchantment as the blade slashed towards his wife and unborn child.

“Emma! No!” Killian shouted as a swirl of white mist enveloped her, leaving The Dark One’s strike void as it met nothing more than air in Emma’s place.

A scream of rage tore from The Dark One’s throat as Killian panicked, “What happened! Where did she go!”

“Don’t worry, Killian,” a new, but familiar voice sounded from within the room. “Emma and your child are safe,” Merlin reassured as he released Killian and Arthur from the invisible binds.

“Merlin,” The Dark One sneered as he and the sorcerer circled one another.

“You should not have come Dark One,” Merlin rebuked.

“And you should not have tried to keep the truth from me,” the imp replied. “Now why don’t you run along, Merlin, and let me enjoy my killing.” With a wave of his hand, the old crocodile sent Merlin off in a swirl of darkness, much like Merlin had with Emma.

_Swan!_ Killian cried out in his heart. _I have to keep her safe!_

Killian reached for the hilt of his sword, but the same darkness that had swept Merlin away now swirled at his empty scabbard, and Killian barely had time to acknowledge The Dark One’s advance before he was thrust out of the way. He looked on in despair as Excalibur impaled Arthur, and a cry of rage and devastation escaped Killian as The Dark One withdrew the blade from Arthur’s body.

He wrapped his arms around the fallen sovereign. “Arthur! No! No, no, no…” Killian cried collapsing to the floor under the weight of his friend, cradling him as Arthur struggled for breath.

A high, cruel laugh echoed within the room, but was quickly followed by a pained scream as Killian looked up the to see The Dark One writhing at the end of his own blade. Behind him stood Merlin who had somehow wrested the blade from the crocodile, and administered a blow to the imp with the only weapon capable of killing him.

Swirling blackness oozed from the fatal wound, and traveled up the blade towards the sorcerer. Killian watched in astonishment as the darkness seeped its way into Merlin, and the life drained out of the crocodile’s eyes. After retrieving the blade from the dead man’s form, Merlin made his way over to his fallen ally seeming none the worse for wear after having been consumed by the curse.

Killian eyed him warily even as he pleaded, “Please, Merlin. Do something!”

“You know I can’t, Killian,” Merlin consoled. “You were there when the blade was reforged. A wound from Excalibur can never be healed.”

The doors swung open in that moment and Killian saw Emma rush in, followed by a dozen or more of Arthur’s knights. Relief and then horror spread across her features as she rushed to his side demanding to know what had happened.

Killian could barely get the words out over his sobs, weeping in both relief at her presence and well-being, and despondency over of his friend who lay dying in his arms.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out in a gurgle of blood, testifying that the king was not long for this world, “you know what you must do.”

Merlin nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, Excalibur vanished only to materialize embedded in the large stone at the center of Arthur’s round table.

“Go on, Killian,” Arthur sputtered.

“What?” Killian responded in confusion as he met Arthur’s gaze and searched for understanding.

“I have no heir,” Arthur stated, “and I no longer have a queen.”

_So the rumors of Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot were true, then._

_“_ Camelot deserves a true king, Killian.”

“And you think that’s me?” Killian questioned incredulously. Arthur was clearly becoming delirious.

“I know it’s you,” Arthur responded. “It should have been you the first time.”

“But the sword released for you, Arthur,” Killian reminded. “ _You_ are the true king of Camelot.”

Arthur just shook his head, and stared at Merlin with pleading eyes.

“I said that the sword would release itself from the stone for _a_ true king of Camelot,” Merlin said, “but that did not mean there was only ever just one candidate.”

“Camelot lies in turmoil,” Arthur confessed. “Unrest and rebellion plagues our kingdom as a result of my failings. But you can restore the peace, Killian. You and Emma can repair our broken kingdom. _Go_ ,” Arthur coughed. “Pull out the sword, and claim the destiny that was always meant to be yours.”

Emma reached over and gently pulled Arthur’s head into her own lap. Her eyes were as wide with shock as Killian was sure his own were, but hers held something he knew his did not. _Belief._ Belief that it could all be true.

On shaky, unstable legs, Killian made his way over to the round table he’d had the honor of occupying many times in his past. He made his way to stand before the stone, and cast one last look at his wife. Emma gave him an encouraging nod as she grasped Arthur’s hand, and they both looked on as he grabbed for the hilt.

The blade did not give even a moment’s hesitation before it glided out of its craggy sheath, and as Killian held it aloft - an expression of utter disbelief cresting his features - the entire assemblage gathered in the war room knelt before him. He heard Arthur utter with his final breaths, “Long live King Killian. Long. Live. The Ki-”

Killian dropped Excalibur as he raced to Arthur’s side, only to find his eyes void and lifeless. Reaching up to press his lids closed, Killian wished his friend a swift journey and prayed to all the gods that he would find favor in the next life. Warm arms wrapped themselves around him, and Killian let his wife hold him as he paid homage to the man to whom he owed so much.

After Arthur’s body was removed from the room, Killian stood to find Merlin standing at the round table, running his fingers over the confounded blade that had managed to wreak so much havoc in such a short time. As he approached the sorcerer he saw that his fingers were not skimming random patterns along the blade’s edge, but were in fact tracing the letters of a name - Merlin’s name to be exact.

“So, you are the new…” Killian began, unable to finish his observation.

“Indeed,” Merlin answered.

“Then the blade belongs to you,” Killian offered, picking it up by the hilt and handing it out for Merlin to take.

“No,” Merlin protested. “It shall remain with you.”

Killian stared incredulously a the man. “But… this blade is the only weapon capable of killing you. Are you sure you wish to leave it with me? Think what it could do if it falls into the wrong hands.”

“It won’t,” Merlin asserted. “It shall remain with your family as a symbol of my allegiance to Camelot, and one day you shall pass it on to your son.” Merlin’s gaze fell to Emma’s swollen middle.

“A son?” Killian choked out through unspent tears as he lay his hand on his wife’s stomach. “The crocodile was telling the truth? We are to have a son?”

“You are to have many sons,” Merlin smiled. “But this son… this son will rule over your united kingdoms. Misthaven and Camelot will become unified as the The Enchanted Forests, and he will be a fair and just king, but fierce in his protection of the people,” he prophesied. “I see a prosperous future for you all... _Your Majesty._ ”

Killian was brought back to his new reality at Merlin’s words. _Your Majesty._

He was king.

King of Camelot.

And Emma was his Queen.

Months later, Merlin’s prophecy would begin to bear fruit as Emma gave birth to a son.

His Royal Highness, David Arthur Jones.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered, as he and Emma lay in bed together after a long and exhausting day of ruling a kingdom and managing their teething son. “Merlin said we were to have many sons.”

“Mmmm, I remember,” Emma replied sleepily.

“Well,” Killian continued, as he traced the pulse of her neck with tip of his nose. “You know what activity is required in order to achieve such a result, don’t you?” His hands moved along her body in an effort to entice her into those very activities rather than sleep.

“Are you invoking your husbandly rights?” Emma murmured softly as she arched into his touch.

“Call it more a royal request,” he replied as he nipped at her collar bone.

“A request?” she questioned, a teasing lilt lacing her words. “So I can refuse your advances if I wish?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “By why would you ever wish to refuse your king?” He increased the offer of temptations with nimble fingers and open mouthed kisses to her neck.

“My king? You’re more like a pirate with these tactics, _Your Majesty._ ”

Killian groaned at the playful way she invoked his title. “A pirate?” he scoffed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, that I have only ever been a chivalrous knight.”

“A knight, then a Duke, and now sovereign of Camelot,” Emma countered, her breath hitching in response to the most unchivalrous actions her husband was undertaking.

“I’ll always be a knight for you, though, Emma,” he vowed. “A knight for a swan,” and they lost themselves in those more enjoyable activities. The ones that did, indeed, produce many more sons - a few swans, as well.

_The End_


End file.
